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THE    WISH 


A   NOVEL 


BY 

HERMANN   SUDERMANN 

TRANSLATED    BY 

LILY     HENKEL 

WITH    A    BIOGRAPHICAL    INTRODUCTION    BY 

ELIZABETH    LEE 


UNIVER^ 

N  eV^Yo'r K 
D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 


tAOfBTt 


A Mthorized  Edition. 


59^3 


INTRODUCTION. 


Since  the  beginning  of  time  men  have  been  ac- 
customed to  regard  the  end  of  a  century  as  a  period 
of  decadence.  The  waning  nineteenth  century  is  no 
more  fortunate  than  its  predecessors.  We  are  con- 
timially  being  invited  to  speculate  on  the  signs  around 
us  of  decay  in  politics^  in  religion^  in  art^  in  the 
whole  social  fabric.  It  is  not  for  us  to  inquire  lure 
concerning  the  truth  or  the  ethics  of  that  belief  But\ 
as  far  as  literature  is  concerned^  it  is  very  certain 
that  the  last  years  of  the  present  century  will  be 
remembered  for  the  extraordinary  talent  shown  by 
a  few  young  novelists  and  dramatists  in  most  of  the 
countries  of  Europe.  In  England,  we  can  point  to 
Mr,  Rudyard  Kipling  and  Mr.  f  M,  Barrie ;  in 
I  ranee ^  to  M.  Paul  Margueritte  and  M,  Marcel 
Prevost ;  in  Belgium^  to  M,  Maurice  Maeterlinck ; 


157672 


INTRODUCTION. 


in  Germany^  to  Gerhard  Haitptmann,  Ludwig  Fulda^ 
and  Her^nann  Stiderrnann, 

The  events  of  Siidennann  s  life  are  few  ;  a7td  he 
has  the  good  sense  to  prefer  to  be  known  through  his 
works  rather  than  through  the  medium  of  the  pro- 
fessional interviewer.  The  facts  here  set  down^  hoiv- 
ever^  we  ozve  to  the  courtesy  of  Suderniann  himself 
a  circumstance  that  lends  them  an  additional  interest. 

Hermann  Suderma?in  zvas  born  September  30, 
1857,  ^/  Matzicken,  a  poor  village  in  Heydekrug,  a 
district  of  East  Prussia,  situated  on  the  Russian 
frontier.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  the  following 
passage  taken  from  one  of  his  novels  bears  some 
resemblarice  to  the  place : — 

"  The  estate  that  my  father  far^med  was  situated 
on  a  high  hill  close  to  the  Prussian  frontier ;  an 
uncultivated,  wild  park  sloping  gently  towards  the 
open  fields  formed  one  side  of  the  hill,  zvhile  the 
other  sank  steeply  down  to  a  little  river.  On  the 
farther  side  of  the  stream  you  could  see  a  dirty  little 
Polish  frontier  village. 

"  Standing  at  the  edge  of  the  precipice  you  looked 
down  on  the  ruinous  shingle  roofs  ;  the  smoke  came 
up  through  the  rifts  in  them.      You  looked  right  into 


INTRODUCTION. 


the  midst  of  the  miserable  life  of  the  dirty  streets 
zvhere  half  naked  children  wallowed  in  the  filthy 
where  the  ivomen  squatted  idly  on  the  threshold^ 
a?id  where  the  men  in  torn  sinocks^  with  spade  on 
shoulder^  betook  themselves  to  the  alehouses, 

"  There  was  nothing  attractive  about  the  tozvn, 
and  the  rabble  of  frontier  Cossacks ^  who  galloped 
here  and  there  on  their  catlike ^  drowsy  nags^  did  not 
increase  the  charm'' 

Sudermann  began  his  education  at  the  school  of 
Elbing,  But  his  parents  were  in  poor  circumstances ^ 
and  at  the  age  of  fourteen  he  found  it  necessary  to 
think  about  earning  a  living,  and  was  apprenticed  to 
a  chemist.  He  conti^iued  his  studies  in  his  leisure 
time  with  such  good  results  that  he  returned  to 
school,  this  time  at  Tilsit,  In  1875  he  zvent  to  the 
university  of  Kdnigsberg,  and  in  1877  to  that  of 
Berlin.  His  first  intentioii  zvas  to  become  a  teaclier, 
and  while  still  pursuing  his  studies  undertook  for  a 
fezv  months  the  duties  of  tutor  in  the  house  of  tlie 
poet  Hans  Hopfen.  But  in  1881,  after  six  years 
spent  in  studying  history,  philosophy,  literature,  and 
modern  languages  {Sudermann  understands  English 
perfectly),    he    turned    to   journalism,    and   edited 


INTRODUCTION. 


the  Deutsches  Reichsblatt,  a  political  weekly.  He 
soon  threw  aside  newspaper  work  for  true  literature^ 
for  what  the  Germans  call  belletristik,  and  he  has 
become  famous  through  his  novels^  short  stories^  and 
plays.  He  is  good-looking^  with  a  dark  melancholy 
face  that  lights  up  with  a  most  remarkable  and 
expressive  smile  when  he  speaks  ;  nothing  could  be 
more  unaffected  than  his  manner^  nor  more  charm- 
ing than  his  whole  personality.  As  yet  there  is  no 
Sudermann  Society  for  the  discussion  of  the  author's 
works,  but  in  Berlin^  ivhere  he  has  many  admiring 
friends,  Sudermann  occasionally  reads  to  them  his 
productions  while  they  are  yet  unpublished.  The 
little  story  called  lolanthe's  Hochzeit  was  first 
heard  in  that  way. 

Although  Sudermann' s  zvork  is  in  all  its  aspects 
essentially  modern,  indeed  all  the  conditions  and 
problems  of  modern  life  have  the  highest  interest 
for  him,  he  belongs  to  no  class,  ranges  himself  with 
neither  realists  nor  idealists,  and  bows  to  the  yoke 
of  no  literary  fashion.  In  common  with  all  great 
artists,  Sudermann  paints  his  own  age,  but  while 
portraying  men  and  women  as  he  knows  them,  in 
the  nineteenth  century,  he  gives  them,  at  least  in  his 


INTRODUCTION, 


novels  and  tales^  the  human  nature  that  is  the  same 
through  all  time.  He  has  lived  in  Berlin,  and  his 
dramas  give  us  life  in  that  city  both  among  the 
proletariat  and  the  rich  middle  class.  He  has  lived 
in  East  Prussia,  and  there  is  laid  the  scene  of  his 
longer  novels.  He  is  familiar  with  other  parts  of  Ger- 
many^ with  Italy,  and  with  Paris,  and  everyivhere  he 
has  used  his  gift  of  keen  observation  to  good  purpose,  . 
A  certain  melancholy,  a  feeling  of  the  ^Hnevitableness'' 
of  things,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  runs 
through  all  his  writings,  and  may  perhaps  be  traced 
to  the  effect  on  his  sensitive  and  high-strung  nature 
of  the  East  Prussian  landscape,  amid  which  he  spent 
his  boyhood.  The  meadow-fiats  and  corn-lands,  the 
meagre  pine-woods,  and  dark,  lonely  pools  of  his 
native  district,  form  the  background  of  most  of  his 
tales.  Numerous  passages  might  be  quoted  which 
would  serve  to  show  the  melancholy  and  loneliness 
of  the  landscape.  As  an  example  we  may  take : — 
"  Thick  and  heavy  as  if  you  could  grasp  them 
with  your  hands,  the  clouds  spread  over  the  flat  land. 
Here  and  there  the  trunk  of  a  willow  stretched 
forth  its  rugged  knots  to  the  air,  heavily  laden  with 
moisture.      The  tree  was  soaked  with  damp,  and 


T 

INTRODUCTION, 


glistened  with  the  drops  thai  had  hung  in  rows  on 

the  bare  boughs.       The  wheels  sank  deep  into  the 

boggy  road  that  ran  between  withered  reeds  and  sedge. 
***** 

"  The  moon  stood  high  in  tJte  heavens  and  shed 
her  calm^  bluish  light  far  over  the  sleeping  heath. 
The  clumps  of  alders  on  tlu  moor  bore  wreaths  of 
lights  and  from  the  slender  silvery  trunks  of  the 
birches  which  bordered  the  broad  straight  road  in 
endless  rows,  came  a  sparkle  and  brightness  that 
m.ade  the  road  seem  as  if  lost  far  below  in  the 
silvery  distance. 

"  Silence  all  around.  The  birds  had  long  ceased 
singing,  A  stillness  of  the  late  summer  time,  the 
complacent  stillness  of  departing  life  lay  over  the 
broad  plain.  You  scarcely  heard  the  sound  of  a 
cricket  in  the  ditches,  or  a  field-mouse  disturbed  in 
its  slumbers,  gliding  through  the  tall  grass  with  its 
low  chipping  whistle'^ 

Such  pictures  constantly  meet  us  in  the  pages  of 
Sudermann's  books  ;  taken  in  connection  with  their 
setti?tg,  they  are  often  of  great  force  and  beauty. 
Nothing,  however,  is  obtruded ;  there  is  no  search- 
ing after  a  dramatic  background,  or  undue  word- 


INTRODUCTION. 


paintiitg ;  everything  is  in  keeping  with  and  subordi- 
nate to  the  main  interest  of  the  tale. 

With  such  surronndingSy  Sudennann  cleverly 
assimilates  his  characters.  They  are  mostly  the 
victims  of  circumstances  which  they  are  moj'e  or  less 
unable  to  overcome.  In  some  cases  the  fault,  as  with 
Leo  Sellenthin  in  Es  war,  Sudermanris  latest  novel, 
lies  in  the  weakness  or  sinfidness  of  the  man ;  in 
others,  in  siirroundings  and  events  for  which  the 
man  is  not  himself  directly  responsible.  Sometimes 
the  noble  unselfish  love  aiid  devotion  of  a  woman 
make  a  happier  state  of  things  possible  ;  Sudermann 
is  a  firm  believer  in  the  power  and  infliience  of  good 
zvomen  in  human  life.  His  women  a7'e  not  so  sharply 
outlined  as  Ibsen's^  but  he  recognises  in  tJie  sex, 
though  much  more  vaguely,  like  possibilities.  For 
example y  Leonore  in  Die  Eh  re  sees  the  folly  and 
emptiness  of  fashionable  life  and  has  the  courage  to 
give  her  hand  where  she  loves,  to  a  man  zvho,  by  her 
sety  would  be  co?isidered  far  beneath  her,  Magda, 
in  Heimat,  refuses  to  desert  her  child.  And  his 
young  girls  ai^e  even  more  charnmig,  more  natural 
than  those  of  Ibsen.  Eager-hearted  Dina  Dorf  with 
her  desire  for  a  larger  life  in   the  world ;    hard- 


INTRODUCTION. 


working  Petra  Stockman  with  her  delight  in  her 
work  and  her  unfliiiching  truth  and  honesty ;  Bolette 
W angel  with  her  desire  for  knowledge^  ^^  to  know 
something  about  everything "  are^  as  everybody 
knowSy  among  Ibsen's  most  delightful  creations. 
In  Es  War  Sudermann  gives  us  as  perfect  and 
natural  a  study  of  a  young  girl  as  we  have  met  with 
in  fiction  or  the  drama  for  a  very  long  while, 
Hertha  cherishes  a  secret  love  for  a  man  much  older 
than  herself  but  has  reason  to  fear  that  his  ajfections 
are  set  on  a  married  woman,  the  wife  of  his  best 
friend.  To  Herthds  innocent  and  unworldly  mind 
this  is  a  great  puzzle ;  to  her  the  sacredness  of 
love  between  husband  and  wife  seems  a  matter  of 
course. 

"  Certainly  the  beautiful  woman  was  a  thousand 
times  lovelier  than  poor  Hertha — and  sh^  was,  more- 
over, much  cleverer.  .  .  .  But  could  she — and  therein 
lay  the  great  puzzle,  the  invincible  contradiction  that 
knocked  all  suspicion  on  the  head — could  she  as  a 
married  woman  possibly  be  an  object  of  love  to  a 
man  other  than  her  husband?  Wives  were  loved 
by  their  husbands — that  is  why  they  are  7fiarried — 
and  by  no  one  else  in  the  world.' 


INTRODUCTION, 


But  Hertha  determines  to  take  such  means  as  are 
within  her  power  of  discovering  if  stick  things  are 
possible^  if  such  things  exist  She  first  consults  her 
books — books^  of  course^  suited  to  a  young  girl's 
library.  She  goes  through  her  novels^  but  nothing 
in  them  points  to  the  enormity.  Then  she  turns  to 
the  classics^  to  Schiller  ! 

"  A  malie  was  a  young  girl — so  was  Luise — hut 
then  there  was  the  queen  of  Spain  !  However^  in 
that  case  it  was  clear  as  noonday  how  little  poets 
deserved  to  be  trusted^  for  that  a  man  should  fall  in 
love  with  his  stepmother  could  only  take  place  in  the 
world  of  imagination  where  genius^  drawn  away 
from  the  earthy  intoxicated  with  inspiration ^  soars 
aloft.  Not  in  vain  had  she^  a  year  and  a  half 
before^  written  a  school  composition  on  *  Genius  and 
Reality^  in  which  she  had  treated  the  question  in 
a  most  exhaustive  manner'^ 

She  next  tries  her  friend  Elly^  a  girl  of  her  own 
age^  but  much  more  experienced  in  the  ways  of  the 
world, 

"  *  Listen^  dear^  I  want  to  ask  you  a  very  impor- 
tant question.      You're  in  love,  aren't  you  ? ' 

'''Yes;  replied Elly. 


INTRODUCTION, 


"  ^  And  you're  sure  the  man's  in  love  with  you  P* 

" '  Why  do  you  say  "  man  "  ? '  asked  Elly.  *  Czii't 
is  my  ideal.  A  little  time  ago  it  zvas  Bruno — and 
before  that  it  was  Alfred — but  now  it's  Curt,  Yet 
he's  not  a  man! 

" '  What  is  he,  then  ?  * 

"  *  He's  a  young  man' 

"  *  Oh  I  that's  it,  is  it  ?  No,  he's  certainly  not  a 
man!  A  nd  Hertha's  eyes  shone :  she  knezv  what 
a  '  man '  looked  like,  *  Well,  darling!  she  went  on, 
' do  you  think  that  a  " man','  or  a  young  7nan — it's 
all  the  same — coidd possibly  love  a  married  %vo7nan  ?  * 

"  *  Of  course — naturally  he  woidd!  replied  Elly, 
with  perfect  calmness. 

"  Hertha  smiled  indulgently  at  such  want  of  in- 
telligence. 

"  *  Noy  no,  little  one!  she  said.  *  /  dont  viean 
his  own  zvife,  but  a  woman  who  is  the  wife  of 
another  ? ' 

"  *  So  do  I!  replied  Elly. 

"  *  A  nd  that  seems  to  you  quite  a  matter  of 
course  ? ' 

"  *  My  dear  child,  I  didn't  think  you  were  so 
innocent!  said  Elly ;  '  everybody  knows  as  much  as 


INTRODUCTION.  ii 

that.  A  7td  formerly  it  was  even  worse.  A  true 
knight  always  loved  another  man's  wife :  it  was  a 
great  crime  to  love  his  own  wife.  He  would  cut 
off  his  right  hand  for  the  strangers  sake,  and  would 
die  for  her,  pressing  her  blue  favour  to  his  lips  ;  for 
you  see  at  that  time  they  always  wore  her  blue  favour. 
You'll  find  it  in  every  history  of  literature! 

^^  Hertha  became  very  thoughtful.  *  Ah  !  in  those 
day  si '  she  said,  with  the  ghost  of  a  smile ;  *  in  those 
days  men  went  to  tournaments  and  stabbed  each  other 
in  sport  zvith  their  lances! 

^^^  And  to-day,'  whispered  Elly,  *  men  shoot  each 
other  dead  with  pistols! 

"  Hertha  felt  as  if  she  had  been  stabbed  to  the  heart, 
and  the  little  pink  and  white  daughter  of  Eve  con- 
tinued, '  I  think  it  mtist  be  quite  delightful  when  one 
is  married  to  knozv  that  some  one  is  hopelessly  in 
love  with  you.  It's  quite  cei^tain  that  most  unhappy 
love  affairs  arise  in  that  way! 

"  The  next  day  Hertha  questioned  her  grandmother. 

"  *  Grandmother,  I'm  grown  up  now,  arent  I ?' 

"  *  Yes — so,  so,'  answered  the  old  lady. 

"  *  And  probably  I  shall  soon  be  7narried  ?  * 

You  I '    shouted  Jier  grandmother^    in   deadly 


<t  t 


12  INTRODUCTION. 

terror.  Doubtless  the  wretched  child  had  come  to 
confide  in  her  the  addresses  of  some  booby  of  a 
neighbour, 

"  *  Yes^^  continued  Hertha^  inarticulately  and  with 
great  hesitation;  ^  with  my  big  fortune  I  am  not 
likely  to  be  an  old  maid' 

"*  Child  I'  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  ^  of  whom  are 
you  thinking  ? ' 

^'Hertha  blushed  to  her  neck.  *  /  P '  she  stammeredy 
trying  to  preserve  an  indifferent  tone  of  voice^  ^  of 
nobody.' 

"  *  Ohy  then  you  were  merely  talking  generally  ? ' 

"  *  Of  course  ;  I  only  meant  generally' 

"  *  Well,  and  what  do  you  want  to  know  ?  * 

"  *  /  want  to  know — how  it  is  with — you  under- 
stand— zvith  love  when  one * 

"  *  When  one * 

"  *  Welly  when  one  is  married?  * 

"  *  Then  you  go  on  loving  just  as  you  did  before) 
replied  her  grandmother y  lightly. 

"  *  YeSy  I  know  that.  But  suppose  you  love  anothet 
man  to  whom  you  aren't  married? ' 

"  *  Wha — /  / '  In  her  terror  the  old  lady  let  her 
spectacles  fall  off  her  nose,     *  What  other?  ' 


INTRODUCTION. 


^^  Hertha  suddenly  felt  as  if  she  must  collapse.  She 
had  to  summon  all  her  courage  and  pull  herself 
together  in  order  to  go  on, 

"  *  Can't  it  happen,  grandmother  dear,  that  some 
one  to  zvhom  you're  not  married  takes  it  into  his 
head ' 

"  *  My  dear  child'  replied  the  grandmother,  *  never 
come  to  me  with  such  foolish  questions.  You  cannot 
understand  such  things.  Now  give  me  a  kiss  and 
get  your  knitting' " 

So  that  plan  did  not  answer.  There  was  stilt 
one  further  possibility  of  discovery.  Hertha  had  a 
school  friend  who  had  lately  got  ^narried.  She  woula 
ask  her,-    So  she  began : — 

"  *  Wives  love  their  husbands,  that  goes  without 
saying.  But  do  you  think  it  possible  that  wives  can 
be  loved  by  other  7ne7i  ? ' 

" *  How  odd  you  are',  replied  Meta.  *  You  can't 
prevent  people  loving' 

"  *  /  know  that.  But  a  man,  don't  you  see,  who 
would ' 

"  *  Well,  that  sort  of  thing  does  happen* 

"  *  What !  is  some  one  in  love  with  you  ?  * 

"  Meta   blushed,     *  I  don't  bother  about  it.     It's 


14  INTRODUCTION. 

quite  enough  that  Hans  loves  me^  and  of  course  I 
should  very  politely  forbid  anything  of  the  sort' 

"  *  Then  people  do  forbid  such  things  ?  * 

"  *  Certainly,  if  they're  told  of  it' 

"  *  What  !  you  might  be  told  ?  ' 

"  *  Sometimes,  if  the  man  who  is  in  love  with 
you  is  very  bold' 

"  *  Good  gracious',  said  Hertha,  shocked,  ^  If  a7iy- 
one  behaved  like  that  to  me,  I  shoidd  box  his  ears! 
But  in  great  anxiety  she  continued,  *  Do  you  think 
it  likely  that  there  are  ivomen  who  have  a  different 
opinion  ? ' 

"  *  Oh,  yes  ! '  said  Meta, 

" *  Who — in  the  end— return  the  bold  mans  love  ?' 

«  *  Even  so:  " 

Then  Meta  repeats  certain  gossip  that  confirms 
Hertha's  worst  fears.  The  whole  chapter  should  be 
read  in  order  to  appreciate  rightly  the  charm  and 
pathos  and  naturalness  of  the  delightful  piece  of 
character  drawing, 
v^'  Like  Ibsen  and  Zola,  Sudermann  does  not  hesitate  to 
set  the  truth  before  us  even  when  it  is  terrible  or  brutal 
or  revolting.  But  he  differs  from  them  in  having 
a  less  gloomy  outlook,  in  firmly  believing  that,  at  the 


INTRODUCTION.  15 

same  time  as  human  7iaUire  is  coarse  and  brutal, 
stupid  and  violent^  it  is  loinng^- capable  of  sacrifice 
and  of  deep  feeliit^.  He  sees  the  strange  not  to  say- 
the  inexplicable  mixture  of  good  and  evil  in  all  things 
human,  and  knows  man  to  be  neither  all  gold  nor  all 
alloy.     This  we  take  it  is  the  true  realism. 

To  make  Sudermann's  point  of  view  clear  to 
English  readers  there  is  perhaps  no  better  nor  moi^e 
direct  way  than  to  give  a  brief  account  of  his  works. 
They  are  three  novels,  Frau  Sorge  (Dame  Care), 
published  in  1886,  Der  Katzensteg  (the  name  of  a 
small  wooden  bridge  over  a  waterfall  that  plays  a 
prominent  part  in  the  story),  1888,  Es  war  f//  Was), 
1^93/  three  volumes  of  short  tales,  Geschwister 
(Brothers  and  Sisters),  first  published  in  the  Berliner 
Tageblatt  in  1884  and  1886  respectively  (one  of  the 
stories,  Der  Wunsch,  appears  in  the  present  volume), 
Im  Zwielicht  (In  the  Twilight),  novelettes  written 
in  various  newspapers,  and  lolanthe's  Hochzeit 
(lolafithe's  Wedding),  1892;  and  three  dramas.  Die 
Ehre  (Honour),  Sodom's  Ende  {The  Destruction  of 
Sodom),  and  Heimat  (The  Paternal  Hearth). 

The  most  perfectly  artistic  of  his  longer  novels, 
and  that  most  deeply  impregnated  with  the  peculiar 


i6  INTRODUCTION, 

characteristics  of  East  Prussian  landscape  is  Frau 
Sorge.  Paul^  the  hero,  is  born  just  at  the  moment 
when  his  father's  difficulties  7nake  it  necessary  for 
him  to  sell  his  house  and  land :  this  gloomy  circum- 
stance overshadows  the  whole  of  Paul's  life.  While 
his  brothers  and  sisters  in  spite  of  the  family  povei^ty 
are,  in  their  careless,  unthinkijtg  way,  happy  and 
even  prosperous,  wilfidly  blind  to  the  fact  that  they 
owe  all  to  the  industry  atid  continual  self-sacrifice  of 
Paul,  his  life  is  one  long  toil  and  struggle,  one  long 
fidelity  to  duty  as  he  conceives  it,  one  long  effacement 
and  suppression  of  self  For  this  he  receives  no 
thanks,  no  acknowledgment.  His  spirit  becomes 
crushed,  almost  extinguished.  After  long  years  of 
toili7ig,  struggling,  afid  suffering,  he  is  redeemed 
through  the  love  of  a  woman,  but  only  when  he 
has  sacrificed  to  "  Dame  Cai^e "  all  he  held  most 
precious,  and  when  the  capacity  in  him  for  joy  and 
hope  has  been  well-nigh  destroyed.  The  character 
portrayed  with  perfect  art  is,  at  tJte  same  time, 
faithful  to  fiature:  such  men  are  rare,  perhaps,  but 
it  is  well  that  the  novelist  shoidd  remind  us  of  their 
existence,  and  thus  help  us  to  recognise  the  potency 
for  good  that  dwells  in  mankiftd. 


INTRODUCTION,  17 

Der  Katzensteg  is  more  powerful  but  less  artistic 
than  Frau  Sorge.  The  German  critics^  however^ 
consider  it  to  be  not  only  the  most  important  of 
Sudermann's  writings^  but  the  finest  novel  produced 
in  Germany  during  this  century.  The  character  of 
the  heroine^  Regine^  a  veritable  child  of  nature^  in 
whom  savagery  and  lack  of  intelligence  and  educa- 
tion exist  side  by  side  with  the  nobility  and  power 
of  sacrifice^  of  which  nature  in  the  rough  is  often 
capable^  forms  the  main  interest  of  the  tale,  and  is 
a  marvellous  and  original  conception.  There  is  one 
scene  that  for  realism,  intensity,  and  horror  has 
scarcely  been  surpassed  in  any  novel  of  modern  times,  " 

Before  turning  to  the  short  tales  in  which  we  find 
some  of  Sudermann's  best  and  most  characteristic 
work,  it  would  be  well  to  point  021 1  one  of  his  chief 
titles  to  genius.  He  has  the  gift  of  being  able  to 
describe  terrible  and  heart-stirring  scenes,  joyful  or 
pathetic  or  humorous  scenes,  with  the  utmost  sim- 
plicity of  style.  In  a  few  words  of  the  simplest  sort 
he  brings  before  our  eyes  living  pictures.  Each 
sentence  palpitates  with  life.  As  we  read,  we  seem 
to  live  with  the  men  and  women  of  his  creation 
through   their  agony  ;   zve  suffer  as   they   do,  and 


i8  INTRODUCTION, 

rejoice  with  them  zvhen  they  are  glad :  at  times  zve 
are  breathless  as  they  are  with  suspense  and  excite- 
me7it.  And  this  is  done  without  any  of  the  analyti- 
cal introspection  with  which  we  have  become  only  too 
familiar  in  recent  novels.  The  characters^  at  least  in 
the  novels  and  taleSy  are  not  mere  nervous  orgaiiisms, 
but  livings  loving^  erring^  feelings  human  beings.  The 
gift  of  terse  narration  joined  to  great  simplicity  of 
language  is  found  in  French  writers  like  Flaubert 
and  Maupassant y  but  it  is  new  to  Germany.  It  is, 
then,  perhaps^  Sudermann's  highest  praise  that  zve 
can  say  of  him  that  he  possesses  the  strength  without 
the  unpleasantness  of  the  great  French  writers  of 
our  day,  and  combines  their  artistic  feeling,  their 
power  and  their  fine  wit  with  all  that  is  soundest 
and  best  in  the  Teutonic  7nind  and  character. 

Many  of  the  short  tales  are  of  a  less  specially 
German  cast,  and  possess  an  interest  that  is 
universal.  Der  Wunsch  {The  Wish),  for  instance,  is 
a  powerful  psychological  study,  set  forth  with 
wonderful  directness  and  simplicity.  Although  the 
tale  deals  with  the  old  theme  of  a  woman  who  falls 
in  love  with  her  sister's  husband,  it  is  instinct  with 
passion  and  original  in  treatment.     Olga  loved  her 


INTRODUCTION,  19 

sister  Martha  dearly^  and  had^  indeed,  brought  about 
Martha's  marriage  with  Robert  Helliftger  almost  by 
her  own  efforts,  but  in  so  doing  had  herself,  though 
unconsciously,  fallen  in  love  with  Robert,  Martha, 
always  frail  and  delicate,  after  the  birth  of  her  child, 
falls  danger 021s ly  ill  Olga  goes  to  her  to  nurse  her, 
and  love  for  her  sick  sister  and  passion  for  Robert 
struggle  for  mastery  in  her  soul.  Thus,  into  a 
character  entirely  good,  noble,  and  self-sacrificing, 
steals  the  wish,  "  if  only  she  ivere  to  die  1 "  In  the 
event  Martha  does  die.  Then  Robert's  eyes  are 
opened ;  he  knows  that  he  loves — has  all  along  loved 
Olga,  and  he  asks  her  to  be  his  wife.  At  first  sJie 
refuses,  then  consents ;  but  the  same  night,  having 
felt  all  the  while  that  the  zvish  for  Martha's  death, 
though  never  expressed  by  sign  or  word,  makes  her  in 
a  sense  her  sister^ s  murderer,  she  puts  an  end  to  her 
life.  She  hei^self  relates  all  the  circumstances  in  a 
document  written  to  explain  her  act  to  her  old  friend 
the  physician,  A  couple  of  quotations  will  give 
a  better  idea  of  Sudermann's  style  than  pages  of 
criticism.  In  a  few  marvellous  strokes  he  paints 
tlie  effect  on  Robert  of  his  first  sight  of  Olgds 
corpse  : — 


20  INTRODUCTION, 

"  When  the  elder  Hellinger  entered  the  room  he 
sazv  a  picture  that  froze  the  blood  iri  his  veins, 

"  His  son's  body  lay  stretched  on  the  floor.  In 
falling  he  must  have  clung  to  the  posts  of  the  bier  on 
which  they  had  placed  the  dead  woman,  thus  bring- 
ing down  the  whole  erection  zvith  him,  for  on  top  of 
him — among  the  h'oken  boards — lay  the  corpse  in  its 
long  white  shroud,  the  stiffened  face  on  his  face,  the 
bare  arms  thrown  over  his  headr 

The  scenes  in  Martha's  sick  room  are  portrayed 
with  an  art  that  makes  them  live  in  our  memory. 
Here  is  one  of  the^n,  Martha  lies  in  bed  sick  unto 
death.  Olga  and  Robert,  wearied  out  with  sleepless 
nights  and  with  their  terrible  anxiety, are  zvatching  her, 

"  There  was  absolute  silence  in  the  half-darkened 
room;  only  the  wind  with  gentle  rustling,  swept 
past  the  window,  and  the  mice  scratched  among  the 
rafters  of  the  ceiling. 

"  Robert  buried  his  face  in  his  hands  and  listened 
to  Martha! s  disinal  ravings.  Gradually  he  seemed 
to  grow  calmer ;  his  breathing  became  slower  and 
more  regular ;  now  and  again  his  head  inclined 
to  07ie  side,  but  the  next  moinent  he  drew  it  up 
again. 


INTRODUCTION,  21 

"  Sleep  overpowered  him,  I  wanted  to  persuade 
him  to  go  to  bed  but  I  was  feared  at  the  sound  of 
my  own  voice  and  kept  silent, 

"  The  upper  part  of  his  body  lea^ied  over  7nore  and 
more  frequently  to  one  side ;  at  times  his  hair 
touched  my  cheeky  and  groping  he  sought  a  support, 

^^And  then  suddenly  his  head  sank  dozvn  on  my 
shoulder  and  remained  theix. 

"  My  body  trembled  as  if  an  incredible  happiness 
had  befallen  me,  I  was  seized  with  an  irresistible 
desire  to  stroke  the  bushy  hair  that  fell  over  my  face. 
Close  to  my  eyes  I  saw  a  few  silver  threads.  *  He 
is  beginning  to  get  grey  1 1  thought^  *  it  is  high  time 
that  ]u  should  know  what  happiness  meansl  and 
then  I  actually  stroked  his  hair. 

"  He  sighed  in  his  sleep  and  tried  to  place  his  head 
more  comfortably, 

"  *  He  is  lying  uncomfortably  I  I  said  to  myself 
*you  must  get  close  to  him!  I  did  so.  His  shoulder 
lay  against  mine^  and  his  head  sank  dowfi  on  my 
bosom. 

"  *  You  must  put  your  arm  round  himl  something 
within  me  cried  outy  *  otherwise  he  cannot  find 
rest! 


INTRODUCTION, 


"  Twice,  thrice,  I  tried  to  do  so,  but  as  often  drew 
back, 

"  If  Martha  should  suddenly  wake  I  But  her 
eyes  saw  nothing,  her  ears  heard  nothing, 

''  And  I  did  it, 

"  Then  a  wild  joy  took  possession  of  me,  and 
stealthily  I  pressed  him  to  me  ;  something  within  me 
shouted  joyously :  *  Oh  /  how  I  would  cherish  and 
protect  you ;  how  I  would  kiss  away  the  furrows 
misery  has  made  i7i  your  brow,  and  the  cares  from 
your  sold  I  How  I  would  toil  for  you  with  all  my 
young  strength,  and  never  rest  till  your  eyes  were 
fill  of  gladness,  and  your  heart  of  sunshine.  But  to 
do  that ' 

*'/  glanced  over  at  Martha,  Yes,  she  lived, 
still  lived.  Her  bosom  rose  and  sank  in  short,  quick 
sobs.     She  seemed  more  alive  than  ever, 

"  And  suddenly  there  flamed  before  me,  and  it  was 
as  if  I  read  written  clearly  on  the  wall  the  words  : 

"  *  If  only  she  were  to  die  ! ' 

"  *  Yes,  that  was  it,  that  was  it.  Oh  !  if  only  she 
were  to  die  !     Oh  I  if  only  she  zvere  to  die  /' 

We  have  only  to  read  fean  Ricard's  Soeurs, 
a   novel   lately  published   in    Paris,    and   dealing 


INTRODUCTION,  23 

with   the  same  theme^  to   recogiiise  how  very  far 
superior  is  Stcdermann's  treatment  of  it. 

The  volume  of  short  tales  entitled  Im  Zwielicht 
is  of  a  somewhat  diffei^ent  character.  Though 
coloured  to  some  extent  by  the  melancholy  and 
**  inevitableness  "  of  the  longer  novels,  those  qualities 
are  less  intense,  aiid  we  have  lively  touches  of  satire 
and  brilliant  flashes  of  wit  that  reinind  us  of  the 
sprightliness  of  French  writers.  The  tales  are  told 
in  the  twilight  by  one  or  other  of  two  friends,  a 
man  a7id  a  woman,  between  whom  tJiere  exists 
merely  an  intellectual  bond  of  sympathy  and  2m  ion. 
The  stories  laugh  good-naturedly  at  narrow-minded- 
ness and  silly  prejudice,  an  evil  that  Sudermann 
wisely  recognises  as  existing  everywhere,  in  the  big 
city  as  in  the  small  village.  Women's  social  aspira- 
tions, their  immense  delight  in  e7itertaining  celebrities, 
and  their  belief  that  in  so  doing  they  are  moving  in 
the  stream  of  the  world's  history,  are  satirised  with 
keenness  and  truth.  He  strikes  a  deeper  note  in 
the  tale  that  sets  forth  the  difficulties  of  friendship 
and  love  between  a  woman  of  mature  years  and  a 
young  man,  a  subject  ably  treated  by  Jean  Richepin 
in  his  fine  novel,  Madame  Andr6,  and  it  is  very 


24  INTRODUCTION, 

interesting  to  note  the  coincidence  of  view  of  the 
French  and  German  writer.  Perhaps  Suder- 
marines  views  may  help  towards  a  satisfactory 
solution  of  that  ever-recurring  will-d -the-wisp — 
platonic  affection.  His  heroine  declares  that  to 
turn  friendship  into  love^  or  love  into  friendships  is 
impossible s  because  wlere  such  a  transformation  does 
take  place s  there  mtisty  in  the  first  instaitce^  have  been 
either  not  frieftdship  or  not  love,  "  F7  om  the  day 
on  which  we  reap  love  zvhere  we  sowed  friendships 
the  magic  charm  would  be  broken^'  she  says,  "  Till 
then  I  was  all  and  everything — then  I  should  be 
merely  one  more!'  And  again ^  ^'^  Love  begins  in 
the  ijitoxication  of  the  senses^  and  ends  in  the 
peace  of  calm  friendships  that  is^  marHage ;  the 
contrary  is  not  forbidden^  but  it  leads — to  the 
desert!^ 

In  lolanthe's  Hochzeit,  Sudermann  proves  hiin- 
self  the  possessor  of  the  humour  that  borders  on 
pathos.  The  little  story  has  no  tendency ^  it  preaches 
no  sermon,  Onkel  Hanckel^  "  a  good  fellow  (ein 
guter  Kerl)  by  profession^'  relates  how  he  had  to 
live  up  to  the  title^  and  how^  at  the  mature  age  of 
forty-seven^  he    lecamCy   almost   against    his    willy 


INTRODUCTION.  25 

engaged  to  a  young  girl.  His  feeliyigs  at  the 
wedding  ceremony^  his  horror  and  shyness  at  the 
notion  of  being  left  alone  with  his  bride  afterwards^ 
form  a  most  delightful  piece  of  comedy.  Piiiz^  a 
surly ^  grasping^  miserly^  rich  old  man;  Lothar,  a 
dashing  young  lieutenant  of  dragoons ;  the  maiden 
sister ;  and  lolanthe  herself— are  portrayed  with  a 
quaint  humour  of  which  the  earlier  works  gave 
little  indication^  while  the  vigour^  simplicity^  and 
directness  of  the  narrative  are  as  fine  as  ever. 
The  East  Prussian  dialect  L  nis  the  original  a  local 
colour  that  would  be  difficult  to  reproduce  in  a 
translation. 

I  In  his  dramas  Sudennanji  treats  life  very  much 
frofn  the  same  standpoint  as  Ibsen  does.  His 
characters  talk  a  great  deal,  and  do  next  to  nothing. 
He  wages  war  against  shams,  thinks  people  should 
live  out  their  ozvn  lives  and  develop  their  individu- 
ality at  all  hazards.  He  preseftts  abnormal  types, 
men  and  women  who  would  be  abnormal  anywhere, 
in  civilised  society  or  the  reverse,  and  who  must  ?iot 
be  taken  as  representative  of  modern  life.  Each  of 
the  three  dramas  he  has  as  yet  given  us  presents  a 
moral  problem  to  the  consideration  of  the  spectators. 


26  INTRODUCTION, 

Die  Ehre  was  first  performed  at  the  Lessing 
Theatre  in  BerltUy  on  November  27,  1889,  and 
had  an  immense  success.  The  dramatist  ruthlessly 
and  boldly  draws  aside  the  curtain  from  the  false 
ideas  of  honour  held  by  high  and  low  alike,  not 
only  by  the  middle  class  and  proletariat  of  Berlin, 
but  by  civilised  men  in  general :  such  social  con- 
ventions, according  to  Sudermann,  tend  to  make 
mo7tey -getting  the  sole  aim  of  the  citizen,  and  help 
to  undermine  the  peace  and  happiness  of  family 
life.  The  revelation  is  undoubtedly  unpleasing,  but 
all  the  same  a  great  truth  underlies  it,  and  in 
the  end  of  the  play  the  virtuous  are  not  sacrificed 
to  the  wicked.  In  the  speeches  of  Count  Trast,  the 
good  angel,  the  god  from  the  machine  of  the  drama, 
it  is  not  perhaps  altogether  fanciful  to  see  the 
beliefs  and  opinions  of  Sudermann  himself  T^^asfs 
conclusion  is  that  we  shall  do  better  to  substitute 
duty  for  the  many  and  vaiHed  sorts  of  honour 
recognised  by  society, 

Sodom's  Ende  is  a  startling  play.  Even  the 
Berlin  censorship  required  alterations  before  it 
could  permit  the  production  of  the  drama  on  the 
stage  of  the  Lessing  Theatre.     It  still  cojitains  one 


INTRODUCTION.  27 

scene  that  would  effectually  pi^event  its  performance 
in  an  English  playhouse.  The  drama  takes  its 
name  from  the  title  of  a  picture  painted  by 
Willy  fanowskiy  who  bids  fair  to  become  a  great 
artist.  But  he  has  fallen  under  the  influence  of 
Adah  Barcinowski^  a  cold^  heartless^  pleasure-loving 
woman,  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  stockbroker.  That 
connection  and  his  own  weak  nature  have  ruined 
Willy  mentally,  morally,  and  physically.  He  ceases 
to  work,  leads  a  life  of  self-indulgence,  heedless  of 
the  hurt  he  does  to  others.  The  character,  unpleasing 
as  it  is,  is  consistently  drawn  by  the  dramatist,  for 
even  in  the  pangs  of  death  Willy  does  7iot  cease  to 
note  the  artistic  pose  taken  by  the  dead  body  of  the 
girl  he  has  injured  and  betrayed.  Never,  per  haps,  has 
the  worst  side  of  Jut  section  of  frivolous  idle  society 
we  are  accustoined  to  call  ^^ smart^'  been  more  ably 
pai7tted:  its  foolish  vapidity,  its  utter  futility,  and 
its  elegant  wickedness  and  sinfulness,  are  boldly 
displayed.  Unfortunately  men  and  women  without 
conscience,  without  comprehension  of  duty,  have  always 
existed  and  still  exist,  but  we  doubt  if  their  evil  in- 
fluence is  as  far-reaching  and  all-important  as  latter- 
day  novelists  and  dratnatists  would  have  us  believe. 


28  INTRODUCTION, 

In  his  latest  play^  Heimat,  produced  January 
7,  1893,  Sudermaim  takes  for  theme  the  duty 
owed  by  the  child  to  the  parent^  and  that  due 
from  parent  to  child,  A  high-spirited  and  talented 
girl,  daughter  of  coinmonplace,  conventional  parents, 
to  the  scandal  of  all  concerned,  leaves  her  home 
to  carve  for  herself  a  career  in  the  world,  and  by 
reason  of  her  fine  voice  becomes  a  celebrated  singer. 
After  an  absence  of  many  years  chance  brings  her 
professionally  to  her  native  town,  and  a  very  natural 
desire  is  awakened  in  her  to  revisit  her  parents 
and  her  home.  Her  father,  whose  health  had  been 
destroyed  through  the  effects  of  her  former  dis- 
obedience, zvishes  her  to  come  back  provided  she 
renounces  for  ever  the  life  she  has  been  leading. 
This  she  has  no  desire  to  do,  but  for  her  father's 
sake  she  is  not  all  unwilling  to  yield.  When, 
however,  she  is  further  required  to  break  with 
certain  ties  very  dear  to  her,  she  refuses,  and  the 
father  dies  from  the  shock.  Now  when  we  care- 
fully read  the  play,  or  see  it  acted  by  competent 
artists,  it  is  clear  that  much  might  be  said  on  both 
sides.  But  as  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more 
beautiful  and  holy  than  the  tie  that  binds  parent 


INTRODUCTION,  29 

and  child ^  so  is  the  contemplation  of  conjiict  between 
them  always  unlovely.  We  grant  that  in  the  storm 
and  stress  of  modern  life  such  conflict  is  at  times 
unavoidable,  but  it  is  scarcely  the  stuff'  of  which 
works  of  art  should  be  formed. 

A  new  play,  a  comedy^  Schmetterling-Schlacht 
(Butterfly  Battle)^  is  to  be  p7'oduced  shortly  at  the 
Hojburg  Theatre  in  Vienna,  Again  a  moral  problem 
is  to  be  presented  to  the  consideration  of  the  public. 
The  three  heroines,  honest  working  girls,  paint  but- 
terflies on  fans  for  a  living.  Two  of  the  girls,  tired 
of  being  sweated,  give  up  fan  painting ;  they  take  to 
pai7iting  their  faces  instead,  and  practice  other 
abominations.  The  third  girl  contimies  her  work, 
and  remains  virtuous.  The  play  chiefly  consists  of  a 
series  of  discussions  between  the  girls  as  to  which 
way  of  life  is  preferable. 

Like    his    contemporaries,   Ibsen    and   Bjornson, 

Zola  and  Tolstoi,  Sudermann  would  transfer  the 

sermon  from  the  pulpit  to  the  stage :  he  sets  before 

us  certain  phases  of  life  that  have  come  under  his 

notice  in  all  their  2igli?iess  and  brutality,  and  zvould 

have  us  forthwith  leave  the  theatre  sworn  enemies 

of  the  evils  he  denoimces.     But  his  characters  are 
3 


^ 


30  INTRODUCTION. 

contented  to  preach  and  discuss^  they  never  feel  that 
they  are  called  np07i  to  act.  Thus  they  lack  life  and 
reality,  we  have  little  sympathy  with  them,  and  are 
never  profoundly  touched. 

As  a  writer  of  fiction,  hozvever,  Sndermann's  high 
position  is  unassailable.  He  ranks  with  the  great 
masters  ifi  all  coimtries  who  have  sought,  and  are 
still  seeking,  to  set  before  us  modern  life  in  its 
ma7iifold  aspects,  in  its  complexity  and  its  diffi- 
culties, but  zvho,  unlike  the  more  pronounced  school 
of  naturalists,  remember  fouberfs  maxim  that 
^^  fictio7i  has  no  business  to  exist  unless  it  is  more 
beautifzd  tJian  reality^ 

August,  1894.  v^ 


THE    WISH. 


I. 

In  the  old  doctor's  bedroom  a  cheerful  fire  was 
flickering.  He  himself  still  lay  a-bed,  quite  pene- 
trated by  the  delightful  sensation  of  a  man  who 
knows  his  life's  work  is  completed.  When  one  has 
been  sitting  half  a  century  through,  for  twelve  long 
hours  every  day,  in  the  rumbling  conveyance  of  a 
country  doctor,  thumped  and  bumped  along  over 
stones  and  lumps  of  clay,  one  may  now  and  again 
lie  in  bed  till  daylight,  especially  when  one  knows 
one's  work  is  safe  in  younger  hands. 

He  stretched  and  straightened  his  stiff  old  limbs, 
and  once  more  buried  in  the  pillows  his  weather- 
beaten,  yellowish-grey  face,  covered  with  white 
stubble  like  granite  with  Iceland  moss.     But  habit, 


32  THE  WISH, 


that  austere  mistress,  who  had  for  so  many  years 
driven  him  forth  from  his  bed  before  dawn,  whether 
it  was  necessary  or  not,  would  not  let  him  rest  even 
now. 

He  sighed,  he  yawned,  he  abused  his  laziness, 
and  then  reached  for  the  bell  standing  on  the 
little  table  at  his  bedside. 

His  housekeeper,  an  equally  grey,  tumble-down 
specimen  of  humanity,  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

"  What  time  is  it,  Frau  Liebetreu  ? ''  he  called 
out  to  her. 

Since  the  day  on  which  the  young  assistant 
arrived  in  Gromowo,  the  old  Black  Forest  clock 
hanging  at  the  doctor's  bedside,  and  whose  rattling 
alarum  had  often  unpleasantly  jarred  upon  his 
morning  slumbers,  was  no  longer  wound  up.  "  So 
that  I  know  that  my  life  too  henceforth  stands 
still,"  as  he  was  wont  to  say. 

"  A  quarter  to  eight,  doctor,"  the  old  woman 
answered,  beginning  meanwhile  to  busy  herself 
about  the  stove. 

"  For  shame  !  for  shame  !  "  cried  he,  raising 
himself  up,  "  what  a  lazybones  I  am  getting  to  be  ! 
I  say,  have  any  letters  come  ?  " 


THE  WISH.  33 


"Yes,  a  few  by  post,  and  one  that  young  Mr. 
Hellinger  brought  himself  two  hours  ago." 

"  Two  hours  ago  !  Why,  it  was  dark  yet  at  that 
time ! " 

"  Yes ;  he  said  he  had  to  drive  out  to  the 
manor  farm,  and  could  wait  no  longer.  Yester- 
day evening,  too,  when  you  were  at  the  *  Black 
Eagle,'  sir,  he  called,  and  sat  here  for  about  two 
hours." 

"  Why  didn't  you  send  for  me  ? "  cried  the 
doctor,  in  the  blustering  tone  of  voice  of  old,  good- 
natured  grumblers. 

"  Well,  and  hadn't  he  forbidden  us  to  do  so  ?  " 
cried  his  housekeeper,  in  exactly  the  same  tone  of 
voice,  which  seemed,  however,  more  an  echo  of  her 
master's  manner  than  personal  defiance.  "  He  was 
sitting  in  the  study  till  ten  o'clock — or  rather  he 
was  not  sitting,  he  raced  about  like  a  madman,  and 
laughed  and  talked  to  himself — I  hardly  knew  the 
calm,  quiet  man  again  ;  and  then  I  brought  him 
beer — six  bottles — he  drained  them  all ;  and  I  had 
to  drink  with  him.  As  I  tell  you,  he  was  quite 
beside  himself" 

"Ah,   indeed,  indeed,"  muttered  the   old    man 


34  THE  WISH. 


smiling  to  himself  with  satisfaction.  "I  should 
say  Olga  had  something  to  do  with  that.     Perhaps 

after  all  she .     Well,  do  you  intend  bringing 

me  my  letters  to-day,  or  not  ? "  he  suddenly 
shouted,  as  if  he  were  goodness  knows  how  wild, 
but  his  face  laughed  the  w^hile.  And  when  his 
housekeeper  had  grumblingly  done  his  bidding,  he 
drew  out  with  a  sure  hand  from  the  little  heap  of 
letters  one  without  a  stamp,  not  deigning  to  look 
at  the  others  at  all.  His  hands  trembled  with 
happy  excitement  as  he  unfolded  the  paper ;  and 
he  read,  while  his  grey  face  beamed  with  pleasure : 

"  Dear  old  Uncle,— You  shall  be  the  first  to 
know  it.  If  only  I  had  you  with  me,  that  I  might 
press  your  dear  old  hands  and  tell  you  face  to  face 
what  is  in  my  heart !  I  do  not  realise  it  yet — my 
head  whirls  when  I  think  of  it !  Uncle,  you  were 
at  my  side  in  the  days  of  darkest  trouble,  helping 
and  protecting.  You  were  the  only  one  to  take 
Martha's  part  when  all  —  even  my  parents  — 
turned  their  backs  on  her  with  coldness  and  sus- 
picion. 

"  You  could  not  save  her  for  me,  uncle — the  Lord 


THE  WISH.  35 


asked  her  back  of  me.  But  when,  at  the  bedside 
of  my  dead  wife,  my  reason  threatened  to  ^\nq 
way,  you  took  my  poor  head  between  your  hands 
and  spoke  to  me — as  a  preacher  speaks.  And  you 
were  right.  Of  course  I  do  not  beHeve  that  I  can 
ever  quite  revive  and  become  again  as  I  was  before 
the  cares  of  existence  and  my  longing  for  Martha 
made  my  head  dull  and  heavy  ;  for  even  Martha — 
even  my  wife — could  not  accomplish  that  in  the 
three  years  of  our  quiet  happiness.  But  life  seems 
about  to  give  me  whatever  it  has  left  for  me  yet 
of  joy  and  peace.  You  know,  uncle,  how  in  the 
midst  of  my  sorrow  for  my  dead  wife,  I  learnt  to 
love  her  sister.  Cousin  Olga,  more  and  more.  I 
confessed  all  to  you,  and  sought  comfort  with  you 
when  tortured  by  self-reproach  at  the  thought 
that  I  was  breaking  my  troth  to  my  wife  already 
in  the  year  of  mourning.  And  you  said  to  me  at 
that  time :  *  If  the  dead  woman  might  seek  a 
second  mother  for  her  child,  whom  else  w^ould  she 
choose  but  the  sister  whom,  next  to  you,  she  loved 
best  in  the  world  ? '  I  was  startled  to  the  very 
depths  of  my  soul,  for  I  should  never  have  dared  to 
raise  my  eyes  to  her.     But  you  never  ceased  to 


36  THE  WISH, 


encourage  me,  until,  a  week  ago,  I  took  heart  and 
begged  her  to  share  my  fortunes. 

"  You  know  she  refused  me. 

"  She  grew  deathly  pale — then  gave  me  her 
hand,  and  standing  up  rigidly  said  to  me :  *  Put  it 
from  your  thoughts,  Robert,  for  I  can  never  be 
your  wife.'  Then  I  slunk  away,  and  thought  to 
myself,  *  It  serves  you  right  for  your  presumption.' 

And  now,  to-day .     Uncle,  I  cannot  put  it  on 

paper  ! — my  hand  fails  me.  This  happiness  is  too 
great — it  came  so  unexpectedly,  it  almost  over- 
powers me  !  To-morrow,  uncle — to-morrow  I  will 
tell  you  all. 

"  I  have  to  go  out  early  to  the  manor  farm.  At 
mid-day  I  shall  return,  and  then  forthwith  shall 
undertake  the  dreaded  visit  to  my  parents.  My 
mother  suspects  nothing  as  yet.  Her  plans  have 
once  again  been  frustrated,  and  Olga  will  have  to 
suffer  heavily  enough  for  it.  I  fear  she  may  even 
turn  her  out  of  the  house.  If  only  I  had  her 
already  under  my  own  roof! 

"  It  is  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Enough  for 
to-day.     Your  grateful  and  happy 

"Robert  Hellinger." 


THE  WISH,  37 


The  old  doctor  wiped  a  tear  from  his  cheek. 

"  The  dear  boy,"  he  murmured.  "  How  his 
emotions  crowd  each  other  in  his  over-heated  brain ; 
and  how  simple,  how  honest  everything  is  to 
the  last  jot !  In  truth,  he  deserves  you,  my  brave, 
proud  girl  ;  he  is  the  only  one  to  whom  I  do  not 
grudge  you.  And  now  I  will  put  you  to  the  test, 
and  see  if  you  too  put  confidence  in  your  old 
uncle.     Straightway  I  will  do  it." 

Laughing  and  growling  he  burrowed  with  his 
head  in  the  pillows.  And  then  he  suddenly 
shouted  with  a  voice  resounding  through  the  house 
like  thunder  : 

"  Confound  it,  where  are  my  trousers  ?  " 

The  trousers  were  brought,  and  five  minutes 
later  the  old  man  stood  quite  ready  before  his 
glass,  all  except  his  greyish-yellow  wig. 

"  My  hat,  cloak,  stick!'*  he  shouted  out  into  the 
corridor. 

"  But  the  breakfast,"  the  old  woman  shouted 
back,  if  possible  louder  still,  from  the  kitchen. 

"Well,  then,  hurry  up,"  he  blustered.  "Before 
I  have  read  these  letters  I  must  have  it  here." 

With  an  impatient  oath  he  set  to  work  upon  the 


38  THE  WISH. 


little  heap  that  had  so  far  been  lying  unnoticed  on 
the  pedestal.  Offers  of  wine — profitable  invest- 
ments— a  poor,  blind  father  with  a  new-born 
infant — and  then  suddenly  he  stopped  short, 
while  once  more  a  satisfied  smile  overspread  his 
features. 

**  Upon  my  word  !  I  should  not  have  expected 
this,''  he  growled,  contentedly.  "  She,  too,  could 
not  rest  without  confiding  her  happiness  to  her  old 
uncle.  That  is  nice  of  you,  children  !  You  shall 
have  your  reward  for  this." 

With  the  same  happy  haste  with  which  he  had 
opened  Hellinger's  letter,  he  tore  this  envelope 
asunder. 

But  hardly  had  he  commenced  reading  when 
with  a  low  moaning  cry  he  staggered  back  two 
paces,  like  one  who  has  been  dealt  a  treacherous 
blow.  His  grey  face  became  ashy  pale  ;  his  eyes 
started  from  their  sockets,  and  like  claws  his  old 
withered  fingers  clutched  the  fluttering  paper. 

When  his  housekeeper  brought  in  the  coffee, 
she  found  her  master  sitting  as  stiff  as  a  log  in  the 
corner  of  the  sofa,  his  forehead  covered  with  great 
drops  of  perspiration,  and  staring  with  fixed  lustre- 


THE  WISH.  39 


less  eyes  at  the  paper  which  his  hands  still  held  as 
if  in  a  cramp. 

"  Gracious  heavens,  doctor !  "  she  cried,  and  let 
the  tray  drop  clattering  on  to  the  table.  Her 
lamentations  brought  him  back  to  consciousness. 
He  asked  for  water,  and  drank  two  long  eager 
draughts,  wetted  his  forehead  and  temples  with 
the  remainder,  and  signed  to  his  housekeeper  to 
leave  him. 

Hereupon  he  bolted  the  door,  picked  up  the 
letter  from  the  floor,  and  read  with  trembling, 
choking  voice : 

**  My  dear,  my  Fatherly  Friend,— When  you 
read  these  lines  I  shall  have  ceased  to  live.  The 
draughts  of  morphium  which  you  gave  me  when 
I  had  forgotten  how  to  sleep  after  Martha's  death 
were  carefully  collected  and  kept  by  me  ;  I  trust 
they  will  be  powerful  enough  to  give  me  peace. 

"  You  who  have  watched  over  me  like  a  second 
father,  you  shall  be  the  only  one  to  learn  why  I 
have  decided  to  take  this  terrible  step.  In  long 
winter  nights,  when  the  storm  shook  my  gable- 
roof  and   I  could  not  sleep,  I  wrote  down  every- 


40  THE  WISH. 


thing  that  has  been  tormenting  me  for  so  long, 
and  will  not  let  me  be  at  rest  till  I  fall  asleep  for 
ever.  On  my  bookshelf,  hidden  behind  some 
volumes  of  Heine,  you  will  find  a  blue  exercise- 
book.  Take  it  with  you,  without  letting  the  others 
notice.  And  when  you  have  read  all,  go  out  to  my 
grave  and  there  say  a  prayer  for  my  soul. 

*'  See  that  I  am  laid  to  rest  at  Martha^s  side. 

"  I  loved  her  dearly.  It  is  she  who  is  calling  me 
to  her. 

"  You  will  understand  all  when  you  have  read 
my  story.  Perhaps  you  know  more  of  my  secret 
than  I  suspect.  I  suppose  I  must  have  spoken 
evil  words  during  the  delirium  of  my  illness,  else 
why  should  you  have  sent  away  my  relations  from 
my  bedside  ? 

"  Did  you  shudder  at  the  things  that  my 
wretched   tongue    brought    to    light? 

"  Do  you  pity  me  ?  Do  you  despise  me  ?  No, 
surely  you  do  not  despise  me ;  or  how  could  you 
have  bestowed  so  much  love  upon  me  ?  And  now 
read.  Everything  is  set  down  there.  It  was  not 
originally  intended  for  you.  I  meant  to  send  it 
after  many  years — when  we  young  ones  too  should 


THE  WISH.  41 


have  grown  old — to  the  man  to  whom  my  whole 
being  belongs,  so  that  he  might  know  why  I  once 
denied  myself  to  him. 

"  Things  have  gone  differently.  To-day,  in  a 
moment  of  forgetfulness,  I  threw  myself  upon  his 
neck.  Too  late  I  comprehended  that  now  escape 
from  him  was  no  longer  possible.  But,  rather 
than  be  his,  I  will  seek  death. 

"  And  I  have  yet  another  request  in  my  heart. 
It  is  the  request  of  one  about  to  die — if  you  can, 
I  know  you  will  fulfil  it. 

"  Keep  secret  from  the  world,  and  especially 
from  the  man  I  love,  that  I  took  my  own  life. 
Let  him  believe  that  my  happiness  killed  me. 
I  shall  destroy  everything  that  might  point  to 
suicide ;  there  will  only  be  indications  that  I  died 
of  syncope  or  apoplexy. 

"  From  the  depths  of  my  heart  I  implore  you  to 
grant  me  this  one  last  favour.  I  die  gladly  and 
have  no  fear.  It  is  so  long  since  I  slept  well,  that 
I  have  need  of  rest.  "  Olga  Bremer." 

The  old  man  felt  himself  in  a  state  of  utter 
helplessness. 


42  THE  WISH, 


He  staggered,  clenched  his  fists,  beat  his  brow, 
and  then  once  more  he  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

"This  is  madness,  utter  madness,"  he  groaned, 
wiping  the  cold  perspiration  from  his  forehead. 
"Child,  what  were  you  thinking  of?  What  could 
cloud  your  reason  like  this  ?  My  poor,  poor, 
darling   child  ?  " 

Then  he  once  more  jumped  up  and  groped  with 
trembling  fingers  for  his  hat  and  cloak. 

"  To  help !  To  help  1 "  He  must  wrest  this 
victim  even  yet  from  death's  hand  !  That  was 
what  absorbed  his  whole  mind  at  present.  For  a 
moment  the  thought  came  to  him  that  perhaps 
after  all  she  had  not  carried  out  her  serious  inten- 
tion, but  he  dismissed  it  forthwith.  He  must  have 
had  a  different  knowledge  of  her  character,  to 
credit  her  with  a  feeling  of  fear  or  a  failing  of 
energy. 

But  possib'y  the  dose  she  had  taken  was  too 
small,  perhaps  the  long  period  of  time — for  it  was 
more  than  a  year  since  Martha  died  in  child-bed, 
and  it  was  then  he  had  given  her  the  sleeping 
draughts — perhaps  the  long  period  of  time  that 
had  elapsed  since  then  had  weakened  the  efficacy 


THE  WISH.  43 


of  the  poison.  Yes,  yes,  it  was  so  ;  it  must  be  so  ! 
When  badly  preserved,  morphia  decomposes  and 
becomes  ineffectual. 

So  forward  to  the  rescue  !     To  save  what  can  be  * 
saved ! 

He  ran  about  the  room  in  search  of  something  : 
he  hardly  knew  what  he  was  seeking.  Then  once 
more  he  grasped  the  letter. 

"  And  what  do  you  ask  of  me  ?  Child,  child,  do 
you  think  it  is  such  a  light  matter  to  perjure  one's 
self?  To  throw  aside  like  rotten  eggs  the  duties 
to  which  one  has  been  faithful  for  half  a  century  ? 
Child,  you  do  not  realise  what  you  are  asking  of 
an  honest  man  ! "  He  Held  the  paper  up  close  to 
his  eyes,  and  once  more  read  the  passage  :  "  It  is 
the  request  of  one  about  to  die.  .  .  .  From  the 
depths  of  my  heart  I  implore  you  to  grant  me  this 
one  last  favour." 

Heavy  tears  rolled  down  his  weather-beaten 
cheeks. 

"  It  cannot  be,  child,  it  cannot  be  done,  however 
well  you  may  know  how  to  plead.  And  even  if  I 
wished  to  do  it,  I  should  betray  myself.  I  am  an 
old,  weak  wreck  ;  I   no  longer  have  such  control 


44  THE  WISH, 


over  my  features.  They  would  notice  it  at  the 
first  glance.  But  so  that  you  may  not  have  asked 
it — of  your  old  uncle — in  vain — I  will — at  least 
attempt  it — for  your  own  sake  and  Robert's  sake 
you  must  first  of  all  be  saved.  Confound  it  all, 
old  fellow,  for  once  more  in  your  life  be  a  man — 
you  must  save  her — you  must — must — must ! " 

And  as  quickly  as  his  stiff  old  legs  would  carry 
him,  he  rushed  out — past  his  housekeeper,  who 
stood  listening  at  the  keyhole — out  into  the  wintry 
morning  air  which  a  cold  drizzling  mist  filled  with 
damp,  prickling  crystals. 


IL 


A  VERY  picture  of  perfect  serenity  and  peace  of 
mind  the  couple  Hellinger  senr.  made,  as  they  sat 
at  the  breakfast-table.  Out  of  the  spout  of  the 
brass  coffee-machine  on  the  brightly-polished  body 
of  which  the  fire-flames  produced  a  purple  reflec- 
tion, there  rose  up  thin,  bluish  steam  which  sank 
down  towards  the  table  in  little  clouds,  cast  a  film 
over  the  silver  sugar-basin  and  wreathed  the  coffee- 
cups  with  delicate,  tiny  dewdrops, 

Mr.  Hellinger,  with  his  snow-white,  carefully 
trimmed  beard,  and  handsome,  rosy,  boyish  face 
beaming  with  good  nature  and  the  pleasure  of 
living,  was  leaning  back  comfortably  in  the  blue 
chintz  armchair,  his  Turkish  dressing-gown  pulled 
over  his  knees,  and  apparently  awaiting  with 
calmest  resignation  whatever  fate,  in  the  shape 
of  his  wife,  might  be  about  to  bestow  upon  him. 

She  (his  wife)  was  just  throwing  a  pinch  of  soda 

4  •  45 


46  THE  WISH, 


into  the  little  coffee-pot,  whereupon  she  circum- 
stantially wiped  her  powdery  fingers  on  her  white 
damask  apron,  which  was  edged  in  Russian  fashion 
with  broad  red  and  many  coloured  stripes.  Her 
white  matron's  cap,  the  ribbons  of  which  were 
tightly  knotted  together  like  a  chin  strap  under 
her  fleshy  chin,  had  shifted  somewhat  towards  the 
left  ear,  and  from  out  its  frilly  frame  there  shone, 
full  of  energy  and  enterprise,  her  coarse,  comfort- 
able, sergeant-like  face,  whose  features  were  rather 
puffed  out,  as  is  often  observable  in  old  women 
who  like  to  share  their  husband's  glass  of  brandy. 

One  could  see  that  she  was  accustomed  to  rule 
and  to  subdue,  and  even  the  smile  of  constant 
injured  feeling  that  played  about  her  broad  mouth 
went  to  prove  how  inconsiderately  she  was  wont  to 
carry  through  her  plans. 

So  that  she  might  not  sit  unoccupied  while  wait- 
ing for  the  coffee  to  draw,  she  took  up  her  coarse 
woollen  knitting,  which,  in  her  capacity  of  presi- 
dent of  the  ladies'  society  and  directress  of  the 
charity  organisation,  was  never  allowed  to  leave 
her  hands,  and  the  needles  ran  with  remarkable 
rapidity  through  her  bony,  work- used  fingers. 


THE  WISH.  47 


"  Have  you  heard  nothing  from  Robert,  Adal- 
bert ? "  she  asked,  with  a  hard  metallic  voice, 
which  must  have  penetrated  the  house  to  its  last 
corner. 

The  question  appeared  to  be  unpleasant  to  the 
old  man.  He  shook  his  head  as  if  he  would  shake 
it  off;  it  disturbed  his  morning  tranquillity. 

"  An  affectionate  son,  one  must  say,"  she  con- 
tinued, and  the  injured  smile  grew  in  intensity. 
"Since  a  week  we  have  neither  heard  nor  seen 
anything  of  him  ;  if  he  lived  in  the  moon  he  could 
not  come  more  rarely." 

Mr.  Hellinger  muttered  something  to  himself, 
and  busied  himself  with  his  long  pipe. 

"  It  looks  as  if  something  were  brewing  again  in 
that  quarter,"  she  began  anew  ;  "  he  has  altogether 
been  so  peculiar  lately  ;  come  slinking  round  me 
without  a  word  to  say  for  himself  It  seems  to  me 
there  is  some  debt  hanging  over  him  again  that  he 
can't  satisfy." 

"  Poor  fellow,"  said  the  old  man,  and  smacked 
his  lips,  perhaps  to  get  rid  of  the  unpleasant  idea 
by  this  means. 

"  Poor  fellow,  indeed  !  "    she    mocked   him  ;  "  I 


48  THE  WISH. 


suppose  you  pity  him  into  the  bargain  ;  perhaps 
even  you  have  been  helping  him  on  the  sly  ?  " 

He  raised  up  his  white,  well-kept  hands  in  pro- 
test and  defence  of  himself,  but  he  had  not  the 
courage  to  look  her  in  the  face. 

"  Adalbert,"  she  said,  threateningly,  "  I  make  it 
a  condition  that  such  a  thing  does  not  happen 
again.  Whatever  you  give  him,  you  take  from  us 
and  from  our  other  children.  And  if  at  least  he 
deserved  it !  but  he  that  will  not  hear  advice  must 
suffer.  If  he  is  ruined,  with  his  obstinacy  and 
stubbornness " 

"  Allow  me,  Henrietta,"  he  interrupted  her 
timidly. 

"I  allow  nothing,  Adalbert,  my  dear,"  replied 
she.  "  *  He  that  will  not  hearken  to  advice  must 
suffer ! '  say  I  ;  and  if  through  his  abominable 
ingratitude  his  poor  mother,  who  is  only  anxious 
for  his  welfare,  and  who  bothers  and  worries  herself 
whole  nights  through,  thinking " 

With  the  many-coloured  border  of  her  apron  she 
rubbed  her  eyes  as  if  there  were  tears  there  to  be 
wiped  away. 

"  But,  Henrietta,"  he  began  again. 


THE  WISH,  49 


"  Adalbert,  do  not  contradict  me !  You  know 
I  close  an  eye  to  all  your  follies.  I  allow  you  to 
sit  as  long  as  ever  you  like  at  the  '  Black  Eagle  ' ; 
I  let  you  drink  as  much  as  ever  you  can  do  with 
of  that  bad,  expensive  claret  I  even  put  your 
supper  ready  for  you  when  you  come  home  late 
though  it  is  hardly  necessary  that  you  should  on 
such  occasions  upset  three  chairs,  as  you  did 
yesterday.  I  consider  altogether  that  you  have 
very  little  regard  for  the  feelings  of  your  old  and 
faithful  wife.  But — yes,  what  I  was  going  to  say 
is — that,  once  for  all,  I  will  not  have  you  meddle 
with  my  plans :  as  it  is  you  understand  nothing 
of  such  matters.  Have  you,  altogether,  any  idea 
of  all  I  have  done  already  for  that  good-for-nothing 
Robert  ?  I  have  run  about,  and  driven  about, 
made  calls,  and  written  letters,  and  Heaven  knows 
what  else.  Five  or  six  well-to-do — nay,  very 
wealthy  girls  I  have,  so  to  say,  brought  ready 
to  his  hand,  any  of  whom  he  could  have  had 
for  the  taking.  But  what  did  he  do?  Well, 
I  should  think  you  still  remember  how  I  was 
seized  with  convulsions  when,  four  years 
ago,    he    arrived    with    that    miserable,    delicate 


50  THE  WISH, 


creature,  Martha  ?  My  whole  illness  dates  from 
then." 

"  But,  Henrietta  !  " 

"  My  dear  Adalbert,  I  beg  of  you,  do  not  again 
harp  upon  the  same  old  string  about  her  being  my 
own  flesh  and  blood  !  If  she  wished  to  be  a  loving 
and  grateful  niece  to  me,  why  did  she  not  bring 
the  necessary  dowry  with  her  ?  She  had  nothing 
— of  course  she  had  nothing !  My  departed 
brother  died  as  poor  as  a  church  mouse.  Is  that 
fitting  for  one  of  my  family?  But  after  all — he 
had  a  right  to  do  as  he  liked  with  his  own — what 
business  is  it  of  mine  ?  Only  he  need  not  have 
saddled  us  with  his  daughter." 

"  Well,  but  she  is  dead  now,"  remarked  Herr 
Hellinger. 

"Yes,  she  is  dead,"  replied  she,  and  folded  her 
hands.  "  It  were  a  sin  to  say,  thank  God  for  that. 
But  as  our  Lord  has  so  ordained  it,  I  will  at  least 
profit  by  the  circumstance,  and  endeavour  to  rectify 
his  folly  of  then.  While  you  were  sitting  in  the 
*  Black  Eagle,'  drinking  your  claret,  I  was  once 
more  toiling  and  moiling  and  inquiring  round,  so 
that  he  has  but  to  pick  and   choose.      There   is 


51 


Gertrude  Leuzmann  ;  will  get  fifty  thousand  cash 
down  and  as  much  more  when  the  old  man  dies. 
There  is  that  little  von  Versen  ;  very  young  yet 
certainly — only  just  confirmed — but  she  will  get 
even  more  !  And  besides  these,  at  least  three  or 
four  others  !  But  what  do  you  imagine  he  will  say 
to  it  all  ?  *  Mother/  he  will  say,  *  if  you  start  that 
theme  again,  you  will  never  more  set  sight  on  me.' 
Was  ever  such  a  thing  heard  of?  He  has  only  to 
marry  the  second  sister  now  in  place  of  the  other 
one,  to  bring  his  good  old  mother  to  her  grave ! 
By  the  by  where  can  the  young  lady  be  to-day  ? 
It  is  nearly  nine  o'clock,  and  she  has  not  yet 
appeared.  In  my  brother's  Bohemian  home  it 
may  very  probably  have  been  the  fashion  to  lie 
a-bed  till  noon  ;  but  in  my  well-ordered  household, 
I  beg  to  say,  most  emphatically  and  politely,  I  will 
not  have  it,  Adalbert." 

"  I  cannot  conceive,  dear  Henrietta,"  he  said, 
"why  you  heap  reproaches  upon  me  which  are 
meant  for  your  niece  !  " 

"  If  only  for  once  you  would  not  take  her  part, 
Adalbert.  But,  of  course,  there  is  nothing  left  for 
me  to  say.     I  am  duped  and  betrayed  in  my  own 


52  THE  WISH. 


house !  However,  I  shall  very  soon  put  an  end 
to  the  matter.  I  have  kept  her  here  now  for  a 
whole  year ;  now  she  begins  to  be  very  much  de 
tropy 

"  But  does  she  not  toll  and  moil  in  Robert's 
household  from  early  morn  till  late  at  night? 
Does  a  day  pass  on  which  she  does  not  betake 
herself  to  the  manor  farm?  Do  not  be  unjust 
towards  her,  Henrietta." 

She  gave  him  a  pitying  look. 

"  If  you  had  not  remained  such  a  child,  Adalbert, 
one  might  talk  reason  to  you.  Don't  you  see  that 
that  is  just  where  the  danger  lies?  Don't  you 
imagine  that  she  has  her  reasons  for  flaunting 
about  every  day  at  the  manor  and  for  behaving 
herself  as  mistress  there  before  him  and  the 
servants  ?  Ah — she — she  is  a  deep  one — is  my 
niece  Olga.  Be  sure  she  has  done  her  part  towards 
getting  him  accustomed  to  the  idea  that  she — and 
she  alone — has  a  right  to  the  place  of  her  dead 
sister.  What  else  should  she  be  looking  for,  day 
after  day,  at  the  manor,  if  it  is  not  that  ? " 

"  I  should  think  Martha's  child  is  sufficient 
explanation." 


THE  WISH,  53 


"  Of  course,  of  course  !  Any  nursery  tale  is 
good  enough  to  impose  upon  you !  She  knows 
exactly  why  she  behaves  as  she  does,  and  why  she 
IS  almost  ready  to  eat  up  the  poor  little  mite  for 
very  love.  She  knows  exactly  how  to  find  the 
way  to  its  father's  heart !  " 

"  But  perhaps  she  does  not  love  him  at  all,"  old 
Hellinger  interposed. 

She  laughed  out  loud. 

**  My  dear  Adalbert,  a  man  who  owns  an  estate 
just  outside  the  town-gates  is  always  loved  by  a 
poor  girl,  and  if  I  do  not  make  an  end  now  and 
send  her  about  her  business,  it  may  very  possibly 
come  to  pass  that  our  dear  Robert  will  take  her  by 
the  hand  one  fine  day  and  say  to  us,  *  Here,  papa 
and  mamma,  now  be  good  enough  to  give  us  your 
blessing/  And  rather  than  live  to  see  that, 
Adalbert " 

At  this  moment  the  sound  of  lumbering  male 
steps  was  audible  in  the  entrance-hall  ;  directly 
after  these  came  a  loud  and  violent  knock  at 
the  door. 

"  Well ! "  said  Mrs.  Hellinger,  "  some  one  is 
making  a  noise  as   if  the  bailiffs  were   outside — 


54  THE  WISH, 


we  have  not  got  as  far  as  that  yet."  And  very 
slowly  and  deliberately  she  said,  "  Come  in." 

The  old  doctor  stepped  into  the  room.  His 
hat  sat  awry  at  the  back  of  his  head,  his  necktie 
hung  loose  over  his  shoulders,  and  his  chest 
heaved  as  with  breathless  running.  He  forgot 
his  "Good-morning"  greeting,  and  only  gave  a 
wild,  searching  glance  around. 

"Good  heavens,  doctor!"  cried  Mr.  Hellinger, 
sen.,  hastening  towards  him,  "why,  you  burst  in 
upon  us  like  a  bull  into  a  china-shop." 

Mrs.  Hellinger  once  more  assumed  her  injured 
air,  and  muttered  something  about  pot-house 
manners. 

When  the  old  doctor  saw  the  undisturbed 
breakfast-table  and  the  astonished,  every-day 
faces  of  his  friends,  he  let  himself  drop  into  an 
armchair  with  a  sigh  of  relief.  Then  it  had  not 
taken  place  after  all — this  terrible  thing !  But  next 
moment  his  fears  took  possession  of  him  anew. 

"Where  is  Olga?"  he  faltered,  and  fixed  his 
gaze  on  the  door  as  if  he  might  see  her  enter  there 
any  moment. 

"Olga?"    said   Mrs.    Hellinger,    shrugging   her 


THE  WISH.  55 


shoulders.  "  My  goodness,  she  probably  will  be 
here  shortly.     Are  you  in  such  a  hurry  ?  " 

**  God  be  praised  ! ''  cried  he,  folding  his  hands. 
"  Then  she  has  been  down  already  ?  '* 

"  No — not  so,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hellinger,  "  her 
ladyship  thinks  well  to  sleep  somewhat  long  this 
morning." 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  cried,  "  has  no  one  looked 
after  her  ?     Does  no  one  know  anything  of  her  ?  " 

"  Doctor,  what  ails  you  ?  "  cried  old  Hellinger, 
who  was  now  beginning  to  be  alarmed. 

The  physician  may  at  this  moment  have  recol- 
lected the  request  with  which  Olga's  letter  of 
farewell  had  closed.  He  felt  that  in  this  way  his 
desire  to  comply  with  her  request  would,  from  the 
very  first,  become  impossible,  and  made  a  last 
wretched  attempt  to  preserve  the  secret. 

"  What  ails  me  ?  "  he  faltered,  with  a  miserable 
laugh.  "  Nothing  ails  me ! — What  should  ail 
me  ?  Confound  it  all !  "  And  then,  casting  aside 
all  dissimulation,  he  cried  out :  "  My  God  !  my 
God !  Thou  hast  permitted  this  terrible  thing ! 
Thou  hast  withdrawn  Thy  hand  from  her."  And 
he  was  about  to  sink  down  weeping,  but  he  once 


56  THE  WISH, 


more  gathered  up  all  the  energy  still  remaining  in 
his  rickety  old  body,  raised  himself  bolt  upright, 
and — "  Come  to  Olga,"  he  said,  "  and  do  not  be 
terrified — however — you  may — find  her/* 

Old  Hellinger  grew  pale,  and  his  wife  com- 
menced to  scream  and  sob  ;  she  clung  to  the 
doctor's  arm,  and  wished  to  know  what  had 
happened  ;  but  he  spoke  no  further  word. 

So  they  all  three  climbed  up  the  stairs  leading 
to  Olga's  gable-room,  and  in  the  entrance-hall  the 
servants  collected  and  stared  after  them  with 
great,  inquisitive  eyes. 

Before  Olga's  door  Mrs.  Hellinger  was  seized 
with  a  paroxysm  of  despair. 

"  You  knock,  doctor,"  she  sobbed,  "  I  cannot." 

The  old  man  knocked. 

All  remained  quiet. 

He  knocked  again,  and  put  his  ear  to  the  keyhole. 

As  before. 

Then  Mrs.  Hellinger  began  to  scream  : 

"  Olga,  my  beloved,  my  dear  child,  do  open — 
we  are  here — your  uncle  and  aunt  and  old  uncle 
doctor  are  here.  You  may  open  without  fear,  my 
love." 


THE  WISH,  57 


The  physician  pressed  the  latch  ;  the  door  was 
locked.  He  looked  through  the  key-hole  ;  it  was 
stopped  up. 

"  Have  the  locksmith  fetched,  Adalbert,"  he 
said. 

"  No,"  cried  Mrs.  Hellinger,  suddenly  casting  all 
sorrow  to  the  winds,  "  that  I  shall  not  permit — 
that  will  on  no  account  be  done.  The  disgrace 
would  be  too  great :  I  could  never  survive  it — 
such  a  disgrace — such  a  disgrace  !  " 

The  doctor  gave  her  a  look  of  unmistakable 
loathing  and  contempt.  She  took  little  notice  of 
it. 

"You  are  strong,  Hellinger,"  she  said,  ^' bear  up 
against  the  door;  perhaps  you  may  succeed  in 
breaking  the  lock." 

Mr.  Hellinger  was  a  giant.  He  set  one  of  his 
powerful  shoulders  against  the  woodwork,  which 
at  the  first  pressure  began  to  crack  in  its  joints. 

"  But  softly,"  his  wife  admonished,  "  the  servants 
are  standing  in  the  entrance-hall.  Be  off  with  you 
into  the  kitchen,  you  lazy  beggars  !  "  she  shouted 
scolding  down  the  stairs. 

Down  below   doors  banged.     A  second  push — 


58  THE  WISH. 


one  of  the  boards  broke  right  through  the  middle. 
Through  the  splintry  chink  a  bright  ray  of  day- 
light broke  through  into  the  semi-dark  corridor. 

"Let  me  look  through,"  said  the  doctor,  who 
now,  in  anticipation  of  the  worst,  was  calm  and 
collected. 

Hellinger  broke  off  a  few  splinters,  so  that 
through  the  aperture  the  whole  room  could  be 
overlooked. 

Opposite  the  door,  a  ^qw  paces  removed  from 
the  window,  stood  the  bed.  The  coverlet  was 
dragged  up,  and  formed  a  white  hillock  behind 
which  a  strip  of  Olga's  light  brown  hair  shone 
forth.  A  small  portion  of  the  forehead  was  also 
visible — white  as  the  bed-clothes  it  gleamed.  The 
feet  were  uncovered  ;  they  seemed  to  have  been 
firmly  set  against  the  foot  end  of  the  bed  and  then 
to  have  relaxed. 

By  the  pillow,  on  a  chair,  lay  her  clothes  neatly 
folded.  Her  skirts,  her  stockings,  were  laid  one 
upon  the  other  in  perfect  symmetry,  and  on  the 
carpet  stood  her  slippers,  with  their  heels  turned 
towards  the  bed,  so  as  to  be  quite  ready  for 
slipping  into  on  rising. 


THE  WISH.  59 


On  the  marble  slab  of  the  pedestal,  half  leaning 
against  the  lamp,  lay  a  book,  still  open,  as  if  it  had 
been  placed  there  before  extinguishing  the  light. 
Over  everything  there  seemed  to  rest  a  shimmer 
of  that  serene,  unconscious  peace  which  irradiates 
a  pure  maiden's  soul.  She  who  dwelt  here  had 
fallen  asleep  yesterday  with  a  prayer  on  her  lips, 
to  awaken  to-day  with  a  smile. 

After  the  physician  had  held  silent  sui-vey,  he 
stepped  back  from  the  aperture. 

"  Put  your  arm  through,  Adalbert,"  he  said, 
"  and  try  to  reach  the  lock.  She  has  bolted  the 
door  from  the  inside." 

But  Mrs.  Hellinger  squeezed  herself  up  against 
the  door,  and  with  loud  cries  implored  her  sweet 
one  to  wake  up  and  draw  the  bolt  herself.  At 
last  it  was  possible  to  push  her  on  one  side,  and 
the  door  was  opened.  The  three  stepped  up  to 
the  bedside. 

A  marble-white  countenance,  with  lustreless, 
half-open  eyes,  and  an  ecstatic  smile  on  its  lips, 
met  their  gaze.  The  beautiful  head,  with  its 
classic,  refined  features,  was  slightly  bowed 
towards  the  left  shoulder,  and  the  unbound  hair 


6o  THE  WISH, 


fell  down  in  great  shining  waves  upon  the  regal 
bust,  over  which  the  nightdress  was  torn.  A 
white  button  with  a  shred  of  linen  attached,  which 
hung  in  the  buttonhole,  was  the  only  sign  that  a 
state  of  excitement  must  have  preceded  slumber. 

"  My  sweet  one,  you  are  sleeping,  are  you  not  ?  " 
sobbed  Mrs.  Hellingen  "Say  that  you  are 
sleeping !  You  cannot  have  brought  such  dis- 
grace upon  your  aunt,  your  dear  aunt,  who  cared 
for  you  and  watched  over  you  like  her  own  child." 
With  that  she  seized  the  unconscious  girl's  pale, 
pendant,  white  hand,  and  endeavoured  to  drag  her 
up  by  it. 

Her  tender-hearted  husband  had  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands,  and  was  weeping.  The 
physician  gave  himself  no  time  for  emotion.  He 
had  pulled  out  his  instruments,  pushed  Mrs. 
Hellinger  aside  with  scant  politeness,  and  was 
bending  over  the  bosom,  which  with  one  rapid 
touch  he  entirely  freed  of  its  covering. 

When  he  rose  up,  every  drop  of  blood  had  left 
his  face. 

"  One  last  attempt,"  he  said,  and  made  a  quick 
incision  straight  across  the  upper  arm,  where  an 


THE  WISH,  6i 


artery  wound  itself  in  a  bluish  line  through  the 
white,  gleaming  flesh.  The  edges  of  the  wound 
gaped  open  without  filling  with  blood  ;  only  after 
some  seconds  a  few  sluggish,  dark  drops  oozed 
forth. 

Then  the  old  man  threw  the  shining  little  knife 
far  from  him,  folded  his  hands  and — struggling 
with  his  tears — uttered  a  prayer. 


III. 


On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day,  a  light  one- 
horse  cabriolet  sped  over  the  common  which 
extends  across  country  for  several  miles  north- 
wards of  Gromowo,  and  in  the  direction  of  the 
little  town. 

Dark  and  lowering,  as  if  within  reach  of  one's 
hand,  the  clouds  lay  over  the  level  plain.  Here 
and  there  a  willow  stump  stretched  its  gnarled 
excrescences  into  the  fog-laden  air,  all  saturated 
with  moisture  and  glistening  with  the  drops  which 
hung  in  long  rows  on  its  bare  branches.  The 
wheels  sank  deep  into  the  boggy  road,  winding 
along  between  withered  reed-grass,  and  often  the 
water  splashed  up  as  high  as  the  box-seat. 

The  man  who  held  the  reins  took  little  heed  of 
the  surrounding  landscape  ;  quite  lost  in  thought 
he  sat  huddled  up,  only  occasionally  starting  up 
when  the  reins  threatened  to  slip  from  his  careless 

62 


THE  WISH,  63 


finders.  Then  the  herculean  build  of  his  Hmbs 
became  apparent,  and  his  broad,  high-arched 
chest  expanded  as  if  it  would  burst  the  coarse 
grey  cloak  which  stretched  across  it  in  scanty 
folds. 

The  man's  stature  was  similar  to  that  of  old 
Hellinger,  perhaps  even  superior,  and  the  face,  too, 
bore  an  undeniable  family  resemblance  ;  but  what 
had  there  remained  pleasing  and  soft  and  undefined 
even  in  old  age,  had  here  developed  into  harsh, 
impressive  lines,  testifying  to  defiance  and  gloomy 
brooding.  A  curly,  terribly-neglected  beard  in 
dark  disorder  encompassed  the  firm-set  jaw, 
assumed  a  lighter  dye  near  the  corners  of  the 
mouth,  and  fell  upon  the  breast  in  two  fair  points. 

This  was  Robert  Hellinger,  the  owner  of  Gro- 
mowo  manor,  Olga's  betrothed.  Of  the  happiness 
that  had  come  to  him  yesterday  there  was  little 
written  in  his  face.  His  grey,  half-veiled  eyes 
stared  moodily  into  the  distance,  and  the  wrinkles 
between  his  eyebrows  never  for  one  moment  dis- 
appeared. He  well  knew  that  hard  work  was  in 
store  for  him  before  he  could  lead  home  his  bride 
— hours  of  bitterest  struggle  were  imminent,  and 


64  THE  WISH, 


even  victory  would  bring  him  nothing  but  care  and 
anxiety.  His  thoughts  travelled  back  over  the 
dark  times  that  lay  in  the  past,  and  that  had 
hardly  ever  been  illumined  by  a  ray  of  light. 

It  was  now  six  years  since  his  father  had  solemnly 
made  over  to  him,  as  eldest  son,  the  old  family 
inheritance,  the  manor,  and  had  himself  retired  to 
a  comfortable  quiet  life  in  the  little  town.  On  this 
day  his  period  of  suffering  had  commenced,  for  he 
was  burdened  with  a  yoke  so  heavy  that  even  his 
herculean  shoulders  threatened  to  break  under  its 
weight ;  everything  he  gained  by  the  work  of  his 
sinewy  hands — everything  of  which  he  positively 
f  pinched  himself — melted  away  and  was  swallowed 
L  up  by  the  claims  which  his  family  laid  upon  him. 
He  had  no  right  to  complain.  Was  it  not  all 
according  to  strict  law?  The  inheritance  had 
been  exactly  divided  to  the  very  last  farthing 
among  him  and  his  six  brothers  and  sisters,  not 
counting  the  reserve  which  his  parents  claimed  for 
themselves. 

Every  brick  of  his  house,  every  clod  of  his  land, 
was  encumbered — on  every  ear  of  corn  ripening  in 
his  fields  his  mother's  suspicious  gaze  was  fixed,  for 


THE  WISH,  65 


she  kept  strict  watch  lest  the  interests  should  come 
in  a  minute  late.  And  was  she  not  justified  in  so 
doing  ?  Had  he  a  right  to  claim  more  love  from 
her  than  she  gave  to  her  other  children?  There 
were  brothers  who  wanted  to  make  their  way  in 
the  world  ;  sisters  who  had  only  been  married  for 
the  sake  of  their  dowry :  they  all  looked  anxiously 
and  eagerly  towards  him  as  the  promoter  and  pre- 
server of  their  happiness. 

The  interests !  That  was  the  dreadful  word  that 
henceforth  hour  by  hour  droned  in  his  ears,  that 
by  night  startled  him  from  his  sleep  and  filled  his 
dreams  with  wild  visions.  The  interests !  How 
often  on  their  account  he  had  beaten  his  brow  with 
clenched  fists  !  How  often  he  had  run  without 
sense  or  feeling  through  the  loamy  fields,  to  escape 
from  this  host  of  glinting,  gleaming  devils  !  How 
often  in  a  blind  fit  of  rage  he  had  smashed  to 
pieces  some  tool,  a  ploughshare,  a  waggon-pole> 
with  his  fist,  as  if  he  did  not  mind  with  what  weapon 
he  fought  them  !  But  they  did  not  leave  him.  All 
the  more  tenaciously  did  they  fasten  themselves  on 
to  his  heels;  all  the  more  thirstily  did  thev  suck  the 
marrow  from  his  young  bones. 


66  THE  WISH, 


What  good  was  it  that  he  sometimes  succeeded 
in  mastering  them  ?  This  hydra  everlastingly 
brought  forth  new  heads  ;  from  quarter  to  quarter 
it  stood  there  before  his  terrified  gaze,  more  and 
more  monstrous,  more  and  more  gigantic,  growing 
and  swelling,  ready  to  pounce  upon  him  and  crush 
him  with  the  weight  of  its  body.  Thus  from  one 
reprieve  to  the  next  his  life  had  dragged  along 
since  that  day  which  was  so  merrily  celebrated  at 
the  "  Black  Eagle "  with  drinking  of  claret  and 
champagne. 

If  only  his  mother  had  exercised  some  leniency!"^ 
But  she  did  not  even  exempt  him  from  the  stipu- 
lated asparagus  in  spring,  nor  even  from  the  loan 
of  the  carriage  for  drives  during  harvest-time 
when  the  horses  were  so  badly  wanted  in  the 
fields. 

"He  that  will  not  hearken  to  advice  must  suffer," 
she  was  wont  to  say,  and  he  would  not  hearken  ; 
no,  indeed  not !  With  one  short,  simple  "  yes  "  h^ 
might  have  put  a  stop  to  all  his  misery,  might  have 
lived  in  the  lap  of  luxury  to  the  end  of  his  days ; 
and  because  he  would  not  do  it,  out  of  sheer,  incon- 
ceivable stubbornness,  because  all  her  wife-hunting 


\ 


THE  WISH.  67 


had  been  to  no  purpose — that  was  why  his  mother 
could  not  forgive  him. 

Thus  two  years  passed  away.  Then  he  began 
to  feel  that  such  a  life  must  sooner  or  later  make  a 
wreck  of  him.  This  anxiety  and  worry  was  ex- 
hausting him  more  and  more  ;  he  decided  to  put 
an  end  to  it  all  and  to  demand  of  fate  that  modest 
share  of  happiness  which  was  pledged  and  promised 
to  him  by  a  pair  of  faithful  blue  eyes,  and  a  pale, 
gentle  mouth.  Then  came  a  day  when  he  brought 
home,  as  wife  to  his  hearth,  the  love  of  his  youth, 
who  had  shortly  become  orphaned  and  homeless. 

It  was  a  dreary,  sad  November  day,  and  dark 
clouds  sped  like  birds  of  ill  omen  across  the  sky. 
Trembling  and  pale,  in  her  black  mourning  dress, 
the  frail,  delicate  creature  hung  on  his  arm  and 
quaked  beneath  every  half-compassionate,  half- 
contemptuous  glance  with  which  the  strange 
people  examined  her. 

As  for  his  mother,  she  had  received  her  with 
reproaches  and  maledictions,  and  a  year  had 
elapsed  before  tolerable  relations  were  established 
between  the  two. 

Martha  had  kept  up  bravely,  and  in  spite  of  her 


68  THE  WISH, 


delicate  health,  had  worked  from  morn  to  night  in 
order  to  set  to  rights  what  had  all  gone  topsy-turvy 
during  the  master's  long  bachelorhood. 

And  when,  after  three  years  of  quiet,  cheering 
companionship.  Heaven  was  about  to  bless  their 
union,  she  had — even  when  her  condition  already 
required  the  greatest  care — always  been  up  and 
doing,  working  and  ordering  in  kitchen,  attic,  and 
cellar. 

It  almost  seemed  as  if  thus  by  labour  she  wanted 
to  give  an  equivalent  for  her  missing  dowry. 

Then — two  days  after  the  birth  of  a  child — Olga 
had  suddenly  arrived  in  Gromowo.  He  had  not 
seen  her  since  his  marriage.  At  first  sight  of  her  he 
was  almost  startled.  She  came  towards  him  with  an 
expression  of  such  proud  reserve  and  bitterness; 
she  had  blossomed  forth  to  such  regal  beauty. 

And  this  woman  he  was  to-day  to  call  his  own ! 
Yet  what  a  world  of  suffering,  how  many  days  of 
gloomiest  brooding  and  despair,  how  many  nights 
full  of  horrible  visions  lay  between  now  and  then ! 

He  shuddered  ;  he  did  not  like  to  recall  it  any 
more.  To-day  everything  seemed  to  have  turned 
out  well ;  Martha's  glorified  image  smiled  down  in 


THE  WISH,  69 


peace  and  benediction,  and,  like  a  flower  sprung 
from  her  grave,  happiness  was  blooming  anew  for 
him. 

Nearer  and  nearer  came  the  turrets  of  the  little 
town  ;  higher  and  higher  they  stretched  up  behind 
the  alder  thickets.  And  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later 
the  carriage  drove  into  the  roughly-paved  street. 

Soon  after  entering  the  gates  Robert  made  the 
discovery  that  people  who  met  him  to-day  behaved 
towards  him  in  the  most  peculiar  manner.  Some 
avoided  him,  others  in  evident  confusion  doffed 
their  caps  and  then  as  quickly  as  possible  fled 
from  his  presence.  On  the  other  hand,  the  windows 
of  every  house  past  which  the  carriage  drove,  filled 
with  heads  that  stared  at  him  gravely  and  dis- 
appeared hurriedly  behind  the  curtains  at  his 
greeting. 

He  shook  his  head  doubtfully.  But  as  his  mind 
was  so  full  of  the  approaching  struggle,  he  took  not 
much  notice,  and  henceforth  looked  neither  to  the 
right  nor  to  the  left.  At  the  corner  of  the  market- 
place, where  there  used  to  be  the  little  excise-office, 
stood  his  uncle's,  the  doctor's,  old  housekeeper, 
holding  her  hands  hidden  under  her  blue  apron, 


70  THE  WISH, 


and  with  an  expression  on  her  face  hke  that  of 
an  undertaker. 

As  the  carriage  approached,  she  signed  to  him 
to  stop. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Liebetreu,"  he  said,  amused,  "  you 
at  least  do  not  take  to  your  heels  at  my  approach 
to-day." 

The  old  woman  gazed  up  at  the  sky,  so  that  she 
might  not  have  to  look  him  in  the  face. 

"  Oh !  young  master,"  said  she — he  was  always 
called  "young  master,"  to  distinguish  him  from 
his  father,  though  he  was  long  past  thirty — "  the 
doctor  wishes  me  to  ask  if  you  will  kindly  just 
step  round  there  first ;  he  has  something  to  say 
to  you." 

"  Is  what  he  has  to  say  to  me  very  pressing  ?  " 

The  woman  was  very  much  terrified,  for  she 
thought  the  unhappy  intelligence  would  now  fall 
to  her  lot  to  tell. 

"  Oh,  gracious  m.e  !  "  she  said  ;  "  he  only  put  it 
like  that." 

"  Well,  then,  give  my  kindest  regards  to  my 
uncle  the  doctor,  and  the  message,  that  I  only  just 
wanted  first  to  have  a  little  talk  with  my  parents — 


THE  WISH,  71 


he  knows  what  about — and  will  then  come  round 
to  him  at  once." 

The  old  woman  muttered  something,  but  the 
words  stuck  in  her  throat.  The  carriage  rolled  on 
in  the  direction  of  old  Hellinger's  villa,  that  lay- 
there  under  mighty  old  lime-trees,  as  if  resting 
beneath  a  canopy.  The  bright  plate-glass  win- 
dows greeted  him  cheerily,  the  shining  tiled  roof 
gleamed  in  the  light,  the  tranquillity  of  a  well- 
provisioned  old  age  rested,  as  usual,  over  all.  He 
tied  his  horse  to  the  garden-railings,  and  strode 
with  heavy,  noisy  tread  up  the  small  flight  of 
steps,  on  the  parapet  of  which,  in  wide-bellied 
urns,  half-faded  aster  plants  mournfully  drooped 
their  heads. 

The  hall-bell  sounded  in  shrill  tones  through  the 
house,  but  no  one  put  in  an  appearance  to  receive 
him.  He  threw  down  his  rain-soaked  cloak  on 
one  of  the  oak  chests  in  which  his  mother's  linen 
treasures  were  hidden  away.  Then  he  stepped 
into  the  sitting-room — it  was  empty. 

"  The  old  people  are  probably  taking  their 
afternoon  nap,"  he  muttered  ;  "  and  I  think  it  will 
be  advisable  to  let  them  have  their  sleep  out  to-day." 


72  THE  WISH, 


He  flung  Kimself  into  a  corner  of  the  sofa,  and 
gazed  towards  the  door  ;  for  he  privately  hoped 
that  Olga  might  have  noticed  his  conveyance  in 
front  of  the  house,  and  would  come  down  to  shake 
hands  with  him. 

He  began  to  get  impatient.  "  Can  she  have 
gone  out  to  the  manor  ?  "  he  asked  himself  But, 
no — she  would  not  do  that ;  for  she  knew  he 
would  come  to  speak  to  his  parents. 

"I  will  knock  at  her  door,"  he  decided,  and  got  up. 

He  smiled  anxiously,  and  stretched  his  mighty 
limbs.  After  having  longed  for  her  incessantly 
since  yesterday  evening,  now,  at  the  moment  of 
beholding  her  again,  he  was  filled  with  a  peculiar 
fear  of  facing  her.  The  feeling  of  humble  rever- 
ence, which  always  took  possession  of  him  in  her 
presence,  now  again  made  itself  evident.  Was  it 
possible  that  this  woman  had  yesterday  hung  upon 
his  neck  }  And  what  if  she  regretted  it  to-day — if 
she  went  back  from  her  word  ? 

But  at  this  moment  all  his  defiance  awoke  with- 
in him.  He  opened  his  arms  wide,  and  with  a 
smile  which  reflected  the  memory  of  happy  hours 
recently  lived  through,  he  cried  : 


THE  WISH,  73 


"  Let  her  but  dare  such  a  thing !  With  these 
hands  of  mine  I  will  lift  her  up  and  carry  her  to  my 
home  !  If  Martha  gives  her  consent,  I  wonder 
who  should  object." 

On  tip-toe,  so  as  not  to  wake  his  parents,  he 
climbed  up  the  stairs,  which  nevertheless  creaked 
and  groaned  under  the  weight  of  his  body. 

Before  Olga's  door  he  started  back,  for  he  saw 
the  gleam  of  light  which  fell  through  the  broken 
panel  on  to  the  corridor. 

No  one  answered  to  his  knockino^.  Neverthe- 
less,  he  entered. 

***** 

A  moment  later  the  whole  house  trembled  in  its 
foundations,  as  if  the  roof  had  fallen  in. 

The  two  old  people,  who  had  retired  to  their 
bedroom  to  recuperate  their  strength  after  those 
trying  hours  of  the  forenoon,  started  up  in  terror. 
They  called  the  maids.  But  these  had  run  off,  so 
that  the  town  should  no  longer  be  kept  in  ignor- 
ance of  the  newest  details  about  the  sad  occur- 
rence. 

"  You  go  up,"  said  the  energetic  woman  to  her 
husband,  and  tremblingly  put  out  her  hand  for  the 


74  THE  WISH, 


little  bottle  of  sulphuric  ether  which  she  always 
kept  at  hand.  It  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that 
she  felt  frightened. 

When  old  Hellinger  entered  the  gable-room, 
he  saw  a  sight  which  froze  the  blood  in  his 
veins. 

His  son's  body  lay  stretched  on  the  ground. 
As  he  fell  he  must  have  clutched  the  supports  of 
the  bier  on  which  the  dead  girl  had  been  placed, 
and  dragged  down  the  whole  erection  with  him  ; 
for  on  the  top  of  him,  between  the  broken  planks, 
lay  the  corpse,  in  its  long  white  shroud,  its 
motionless  face  upon  his  face,  its  bared  arms 
thrown  over  his  head. 

At  this  moment  he  regained  consciousness,  and 
started  up.  The  dead  girl's  head  sank  down  from 
his,  and  bumped  on  to  the  floor. 

"  Robert,  my  boy ! "  cried  the  old  man,  and 
rushed  towards  him. 

With  wide-open,  glassy  eyes,  Robert  stared 
about  him.  He  seemed  not  yet  to  have  recovered 
his  senses.  Then  he  perceived  one  of  the  arms, 
which,  as  the  body  dropped  sidewards,  had  fallen 
right  across  his  chest.     His  gaze  travelled  along  it 


THE  WISH.  75 


up  to  the  shoulder,  as  far  as  the  neck — as  far  as 
the  white  rigidly-smiling  face. 

Supported  by  the  old  man's  two  arms,  he  raised 
himself  up.  He  tottered  on  his  legs  like  a  bull 
that  has  received  a  blow  from  an  axe. 

"  Good  God,  boy,  do  come  to  your  senses ! " 
cried  his  father,  taking  him  by  his  shoulders. 
"  The  misfortune  has  taken  place  ;  we  are  men, 
we  must  keep  our  composure." 

His  son  looked  at  him  vacantly,  helplessly  as  a 
child.  Then  he  bent  over  the  dead  body,  lifted  it 
up,  and  laid  it  across  the  bed,  pushing  the  frag- 
ments of  the  bier  to  one  side  with  his  foot. 

Then  he  seated  himself  close  to  her  on  the 
pillow,  and  mechanically  wound  a  coil  of  her  flow- 
ing hair  round  his  finger. 

The  old  man  began  to  entertain  fears  of  his 
son's  sanity. 

"  Robert,"  he  said,  coming  close  up  to  him 
again,  "  pull  yourself  together.  Come  away  from 
here  ;  you  cannot  bring  her  back  to  life  again." 

Then  he  broke  into  a  laugh  so  shrill  and  hor- 
rible, that  it  froze  the  very  marrow  in  his  father's 
bones. 


76  THE  WISH, 


All  of  a  sudden  his  stupor  left  him  ;  he  jumped 
up,  his  eyes  glowed,  and  on  his  temples  the  veins 
swelled  up. 

"  Where  is  mother  ?  "  he  screamed,  advancing 
towards  the  old  man. 

He  sought  to  pacify  him. 

"  Good  heavens !  do  have  patience !  We  will 
tell  you  all." 

The  old  lady,  who  had  already  been  standing 
for  a  long  time  listening  on  the  stairs,  at  this 
moment  put  in  her  head  at  the  door. 

He  rushed  past  his  father  and  at  her  as  if  about 
to  strangle  her ;  but  he  had  at  least  so  much 
reason  left  as  to  be  sensible  of  the  monstrousness 
of  his  proceeding.  His  arms  fell  down  limp  at 
his  sides — he  set  his  teeth  as  if  to  choke  down 
his  pent-up  rage.  "  Mother,"  said  he,  "  you  shall 
account  to  me  for  this.  I  demand  an  explanation 
of  you.     Why  did  she  die  ?  " 

The  old  woman  came  towards  him  with  tender 
compassion,  and  made  as  if  she  would  burst  into 
tears  upon  his  neck. 

With  a  rough  movement  he  shook  her 
off. 


THE  WISH,  77 


"Leave  that,  mother"  he  said,  "I  claim  her 
from  you  ! " 

"  But,  Robert,"  whined  the  old  woman,  "  is 
this  the  way  for  a  son  to  treat  his  mother  \ 
Adalbert,  just  tell  him  how  he  ought  to  treat 
his  mother ! " 

He  took  hold  of  the  old  man's  hands.  "  You 
keep  out  of  the  game,  father,"  he  said.  "  The 
account  which  I  have  to  settle  to-day  with  my 
mother  concerns  us  two  alone.  Mother,  I  ask 
you  once  more :  why  did  she  die  ? "  He  was 
leaning  against  the  wall  and  stared  at  her  with 
half-closed,  blood-shot  eyes. 

Mrs.  Hellinger  had  meanwhile  commenced  to 
cry. 

"Do  you  suppose  I  know?"  she  sobbed;  "do 
you  suppose  anybody  at  all  knows  }  We  found 
her  in  her  bed,  that  is  all.  She  has  brought  dis- 
grace upon  our  house,  the  miserable  creature,  in 
return  for " 

"  Do   not  abuse  her,  mother,"   he   said,  wildly, 

speaking    in   an   angry   undertone ;    "  you    know 

very  well  that  she  was  my  bride ! " 

His   mother   gave  vent   to   a   cry   of  astonish- 
6 


78  THE  WISH. 


ment,  and  her  husband  too  made  a  movement  of 
surprise. 

"  What !  you  do  not  know  that  ?  Mother,"  he 
cried,  and  pressed  both  his  fists  to  his  temples, 
"  did  she  say  nothing  to  you  ?  Did  she  not  come 
to  you  last  night,  and  tell  you  what  had  taken 
place  between   her  and   me  during  the  day?" 

*'  Heaven  forbid ! "  groaned  the  old  woman. 
"  Scarce  a  syllable  did  she  speak  to  me,  but  went 
and  locked  herself  up  in   her  room." 

*'  Mother,"  he  said,  and  stepped  close  up  to 
her.  *'  When  she  had  confessed  all  to  you,  did 
you  not  work  upon  her  conscience  ?  Did  you  not 
impress  it  upon  her  that  if  she  truly  loved  me 
she  must  give  me  up,  that  she  would  bring 
misfortune  upon  me,  and  Heaven  knows  what 
besides  !      Mother,  did  you  not  do  this  ? " 

"  My  own  son  does  not  believe  me !  My  own 
son  gives  me  the  lie,"  whimpered  the  old  woman. 
"  These  are  the  thanks  that  I  get  from  my 
children  to-day." 

He  grasped  her  right  hand.  "  Mother,"  he  said, 
"you  have  done  me  many  a  wrong  in  all  these 
years.  The  worst  and  bitterest  I  ever  experienced 
came  to  me  through  you." 


THE  WISH.  79 


"  Merciful  Heavens,"  shrieked  the  old  woman, 
"  these  are  the  thanks — these  are  the  thanks  ! " 

"But  all  the  evil  you  did  to  me  and  Martha 
I  will  forgive  you,  mother,"  he  continued,  "nay, 
more  even  !  On  my  bended  knees  I  will  ask 
your  forgiveness  for  ever  having  harboured  a 
bitter  thought  against  you  ;  but  one  thing  you 
must  do  for  me — here  by  her  dead  body  you 
must  swear  that  you  knew  of  nothing,  that  in 
all  things  you  were  speaking  the  truth."  And 
he  dragged  her  to  the  corpse  that  stared  up  at 
him  with  its  ecstatic  smile — a  bride's  smile  to 
her  bridegroom. 

"  That  such  a  thing  should  be  necessary  between 
us,"  complained  the  old  woman,  and  cast  a  glance 
of  bitter  hatred  at  him  out  of  her  swollen  eyes. 
But  she  sufferied  him  to  lay  her  right  hand  on 
the  dead  girFs  forehead  ;  she  stroked  it  and 
sobbed,  "  I  swear  it,  my  sweet  one,  you  know 
best  that  I  knew  nothing  and  never  required  any- 
thing wrong  of  you."  Thereupon  she  gave  a  sigh 
of  relief,  as  if  she  had  suddenly  come  to  under- 
stand what  a  gain  this  tragic  deed  would  mean 
for   her   and    her   family.     Sincere   gratitude    lay 


8o  THE  WISH. 


in  the  tender  caress  with  which  she  fondled  the 
dead  face. 

At  this  moment  the  old  physician  came  rushing 
into  the  room.  He  had  hoped  to  overtake  Robert 
and  prepare  him  for  the  worst,  and  saw  in  terror 
that  he  had  come  too  late. 

Old  Hellinger  hurried  towards  him  and 
whispered  in  his  ear :  "  Take  him  away,  he  is 
out  of  his  senses !  We  can  do  nothing  with  him 
here!" 

Robert  stood  there  clutching  at  the  bed-posts, 
his  chest  heaving,  his  face  as  if  turned  to  stone 
with  gloomy,  tearless  misery. 

The  old  doctor  rubbed  his  stubbly  grey  beard 
against  his  shoulder,  and  growled  in  that  roughly 
compassionate  way  which  goes  quickest  to  the 
hearts  of  strong  men. 

"  Come  aw^ay,  my  boy ;  don*t  do  anything 
foolish  ;  do  not  disturb  her  rest." 

Robert  started  and  nodded  several  times. 

Then  suddenly  —  as  if  overpowered  by  his 
misery — he  fell  down  in  front  of  the  bed  and 
cried  out,  "Wherefore  didst  thou   die?" 


IV. 


Wherefore  had  she  died  ? 

This  question  henceforth  puzzled  the  whole 
town  completely.  In  the  streets — at  the  tea- 
table,  on  the  alehouse  benches — it  was  the  one 
topic  for  discussion.  People  indulged  in  the  most 
out-of-the-way  surmises,  the  most  hazardous  con- 
jectures were  put  forward,  and  still  no  one  was 
one  whit  the  wiser.  Some  spoke  of  an  unhappy, 
others  of  an  over- happy  love  affair,  and  others 
again  declared  that  they  had  always  predicted 
that  she  would  not  come  to  a  good  end. 

During  her  life-time  already,  her  proud,  taciturn, 
reserved  nature  had  been  a  riddle  to  the  good 
homely  townfolk  ;  now  her  death  was  a  still 
greater  riddle  to  them. 

Meanwhile  it  had  got  about  that  the  physician 
had  been  the  first  to  receive  news  of  the  suicide, 
and  the  only  one  to  whom  she  herself  had  confided 

8i 


82  THE  WISH, 


her  intention.  People  crowded  up  to  him  ;  they 
almost  stormed  his  house ;  but  he  persisted  in  his 
silence.  With  all  the  bluffness  of  which  he  was 
so  particularly  capable,  he  sent  the  importunate 
questioners  about  their  business.  Olga's  letter 
he  had  on  the  very  same  day  committed  to  the 
flames,  for  he  feared  that  a  court  of  law  might 
require  it  of  him.  As  for  the  rest,  the  cause  of 
death  was  so  evident  that  even  a  post-mortem 
examination  could  be  dispensed  with.  As  might 
have  been  expected,  the  dead  girl  had  not 
succeeded  in  absolutely  removing  every  trace  of 
her  deed.  In  the  glass  standing  on  her  night- 
table  were  found,  adhering  to  its  sides,  drops  of 
a  fluid  whose  flavour  proved,  even  to  a  non- 
expert, that  here  a  solution  of  morphia  was  in 
question.  The  chain  of  evidence  became  com- 
plete when  in  the  garden,  embedded  under  some 
hawthorn  bushes,  were  found  fragments  of  glass 
bottles,  to  the  necks  of  which  a  portion  of  the 
poisonous  solution  still  adhered  in  white  crystal- 
lised streaks.  They  had  evidently  been  thrown 
out  of  the  window,  and  still  bore  labels  giving  the 
date  of  the  prescription  and  directions  for  taking. 


THE  WISH.  83 


As  matters  stood,  it  would  have  been  simple 
madness  on  the  doctor's  part  if  he  had  dared  to 
attempt  to  hush  up  the  suicidal  intention  ;  for 
even  carelessness  in  taking  the  sleeping  draught 
was  quite  out  of  the  question. 

Nevertheless,  he  was  tormented  by  the  idea  that 
he  had  been  unable  to  carry  out  the  dying  girFs 
last  request,  and  he  faithfully  promised  himself 
that  he  would  all  the  more  truly  at  least  keep  the 
secret  which  she  had  wrapped  round  her  motives 
for  the  unhappy  deed. 

If  only  he  himself  could  see  his  way  clear  at 
last !  The  days  passed  by,  however,  and  still  he 
could  not  succeed  in  taking  possession  of  the 
legacy  which  Olga  had  left  to  him. 

Mrs.  Hellinger,  senior,  mistrusted  him  ;  she  told 
him  openly  to  his  face  that  he  had  always  had 
some  secret  understanding  with  the  dead  girl,  and 
behind  his  back  she  added  that  if  he  had  not 
prescribed  such  unreasonably  strong  solutions  of 
morphia,  Olga  would  have  been  alive  and  happy 
for  a  long  time  to  come.  She  almost  went  so  far 
as  to  ascribe  the  blame  of  her  niece's  death  to  their 
old  family  friend. 


84  THE  WISH, 


At  any  rate  she  did  not  permit  him  henceforth 
to  remain  for  one  second  alone  in  the  dead  girl's 
room.  She  kept  the  door  carefully  locked,  and 
declared  she  would  not  suffer  the  dead  girl's 
belongings,  which  to  her  were  sacred  relics,  to  be 
defiled  by  the  touch  of  strange  hands,  or  by 
strange  glances. 

Thus  from  hour  to  hour  there  was  increasing 
danger  that  the  book,  in  which  Olga  had  written 
down  her  confessions,  might  fall  into  the  old 
woman's  hands. 

She  need  only  take  it  into  her  head  one  day  to 
to  rummage  among  the  little  collection  of  volumes 
which  filled  the  book-shelf,  and  the  mischief  was 
done. 

Added  to  this  anxiety,  which  drove  the  old 
doctor  daily  to  the  Hellingers*  house,  came  his 
growing  uneasiness  about  Robert  who,  since  that 
disastrous  hour,  had  fallen  a  prey  to  blank,  despair- 
ing lethargy.  He  seemed  absolutely  deprived  of 
the  power  of  speech,  would  endure  no  one  near 
him,  and  even  taciturnly  shunned  and  avoided  him, 
his   old  friend  ;  by  day  he  roamed  about  in  the 


THE  WISH.  85 


fields,  by  night  he  sat  by  his  child's  cot,  and  stared 
down  upon  it  with  burning,  reddened  eyes. 

So  said  the  servants,  who  three  times  had  found 
him  in  the  morning  in  this  position. 


V. 


The  lights  round  Olga's  coffin  had  burnt  down. 

The  guests,  who  for  so  long  had  surrounded  the 
bier  in  solemn  silence,  began  to  move  to  and  fro, 
and  to  look  round  for  refreshments. 

Mrs.  Hellinger,  who  was  receiving  condolences, 
and  at  the  same  time,  with  a  great  profusion  of 
tears  and  pocket  handkerchiefs,  extolling  the  virtues 
of  the  deceased,  suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  her  grief, 
proved  herself  an  attentive  and  liberal  hostess. 
The  guests  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  doors  of 
the  dining-room  were  thrown  open,  and  from  the 
resplendent  table  a  sweet  odour  of  roast  meats, 
compotes  and  herring  salad  greeted  them. 

Mr.  Hellinger,  senior,  praised  the  Lord,  and  with 
a  few  privileged  friends,  drank  the  specially  fine 
claret  which  he  set  before  them  \n  honour  of  the 
occasion.  They  were  not  yet  agreed  whether  an 
innocent  game  of  cards  would  be  disparaging  to 

86 


THE  WISH.  87 


the  general  mourning,  and  decided  to  send  dele- 
gates to  the  hostess  to  obtain  her  permission. 

There  was  plenty  of  life  and  bustle  in  the  Hel- 
lingers'  house — one  might  have  imagined  one  were 
at  a  wedding. 

The  physician,  who  dropped  in  late  upon  this 
merry  company,  looked  about  anxiously  for  Robert. 
He  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Thereupon  he  took  one  of  the  guests  aside  and 
inquired  after  him.  Yes,  he  had  been  there,  had 
looked  about  him  with  startled  ^y^s,  and  had 
silently  moved  aside  when  any  one  wanted  to 
shake  hands  with  him.  But  after  a  very  few 
minutes  his  disappearance  had  been  noticed. 

The  physician  went  into  the  entrance-hall,  and 
hunted  among  the  guests'  wraps  for  Robert's  cloak. 
It  was  lying  there  yet. 

With  the  freedom  of  an  old  friend  of  the  family, 
he  then  commenced  his  search  through  the  back 
rooms  of  the  house,  which  were  quiet  and  de- 
serted ;  for  the  servants  were  busy  waiting  at 
table. 

In  a  narrow,  dark  chamber,  where  disused  furni- 
ture was  piled  up,  he  found  him  sitting  on  an  over- 


THE  WISH. 


turned  wooden  case,  brooding  with  his  head  in  his 
hands. 

"  Robert,  my  boy,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  "  he 
cried  out  to  him. 

He  raised  his  head  slowly  and  said,  "  I  suppose 
there  are  merry  goings-on  in  the  other  part  of  the 
house?" 

The  physician  laid  his  hands  on  his  shoulders : 

"  I  am  anxious  about  you,  my  boy.  Since  three 
days  you  grudge  a  word  to  any  of  us  ;  you  are  on 
the  road  to  madness,  if  you  go  on  like  this." 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  answered  Robert,  with  a 
sigh  that  broke  from  him  like  a  cry  of  anguish. 
"  I  am  calm,  quite  calm."  Then  he  once  more 
rested  his  bushy  head  upon  his  two  hands,  and  fell 
again  to  brooding. 

The  old  man  sat  down  at  his  side  and  began  to 
remonstrate  with  him.  He  forgot  no  single  thing 
that  one  is  won't  to  say  in  such  cases,  and  added 
many  a  comforting,  strengthening  word  of  his  own 
making.  Robert  sat  there  motionless,  he  hardly 
gave  any  sign  of  interest.  But  when  the  old  man 
came  to  no  stop,  he  interrupted  him,  and  said  : 

"  Leave  that,  uncle,  that  is  sweet  stuff  for  little 


THE  WISH,  89 


children.  To  the  one  question  on  which  for  me 
depends  Hfe  and  death,  you,  too,  can  ^w^  me  no 
answer." 

"What  question?" 

"  Uncle,  see,  I  am  calm  now — wonderfully  calm — 
no  fever,  no  frenzy  is  upon  me  as  I  speak,  and  so 
you  will  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that  I  do  not 
know — how  I  shall  live  through  this  night !  " 

*'  For  God's  sake,  what  are  you  about  to  do  ?  " 

Robert  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  I  do  not  know/'  he  said,  "  whatever  suggests 
itself  at  the  moment  will  do  for  me.  I  am  only 
sorry  for  the  poor  little  mite  that  will  have  to  go 
on  living  without  a  father — perhaps  I  shall  take  it 
with  me  on  my  journey — I  do  not  know.  I  only 
know  the  one  thing,  that  I  cannot  go  on  like  this 
any  longer  1  " 

The  old  man,  trembling  with  fear  in  every  limb, 
heaped  reproaches  upon  him.  That  would  be 
cowardly,  that  would  be  unmanly,  and  only  worthy 
of  a  miserable  weakling. 

Robert  listened  to  him  calmly,  then  he  said  : 

"You  would  be  right,  uncle,  if  it  were  her 
death  w^hich  made  me  despair  of  myself  and  of 


90  THE  WISH, 


my  happiness  !  But,  good  heavens  !  " — he  laughed 
y  harshly  and  bitterly — "  I  have  long  since  accus- 
\  tomed  myself  to  lay  no  claim  to  happiness.  As 
I  for  me,  I  would  quietly  bear  my  affliction, — (I 
jhave  experience  in  that,  as  you  know,  for  I  have 
already  lowered  one  loved  being  into  the  grave), — 
and  go  on  raking  and  scraping  money  together, 
as  I  have  been  doing  for  so  long,  and  doing  in 
the  midst  of  the  deepest  sorrow ;  for  the  interests, 
you  know,  they  take  little  notice  of  the  state  of 
one's  feelings,  and  even  if  one's  hand  grows  numb 
with  pain  and  despair— they  have  to  be  paid  ! 
But  that  is  not  what  makes  my  brain  so  dis- 
organised —  for  I  am  disorganised,  you  may 
believe  me ;  before  my  eyes  sparks  are  con- 
stantly dancing,  my  body  is  convulsed,  and  my 
blood  rushes  like  fire  through  my  veins.  And 
yet  I  am  quite  calm  with  it  all,  and  see  every- 
thing all  around  as  clearly  as  if  I  could  look 
right  through  it.  Only  the  one  thing  I  cannot 
comprehend — it  haunts  me  like  a  terrible  phantom 
by  day  and  by  night,  and  when  I  seek  to  grasp 
it,  it  escapes  me — this  one  thing  :  Wherefore  did 
she  die  ?  "  — ...^^— ^ 


THE  WISH.  ,  91 


The  old  man  started.  He  thought  of  the 
letter  and  the  promise  that  the  dead  girl  had 
therein  required  of  him. 

Robert  continued  :  "  There  is  a  voice  which 
constantly  screams  into  my  ears,  *  It  is  your 
fault  ! '  Hozv  so  I  do  not  know ;  for  however 
much  I  probe  the  depths  of  my  soul,  I  find  no 
wrong  there  that  I  did  her;  and  yet  the  voice 
will  not  be  silenced.  I  tell  myself, — *This  is  a 
fixed  idea.'  I  tell  myself,  *  You  are  tormenting 
yourself ;  you  are  a  fool  and  wicked — wicked 
towards  yourself  and  your  child  ;'  but  it  is  no 
good,  uncle ! — it  will  not  be  silenced.  And,  after 
all,  there  may  be  something  in  it,  uncle  t  Would 
Olga  not  be  alive  yet,  if  it  were  not  for  me?  If, 
on  the  preceding  evening,  things  had  not  hap- 
pened  " 

He  stopped,  shuddering,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  hands.  Tearless  sobs  shook  his  mighty 
frame.  Then  he  said :  "  Uncle,  I  cannot — I  dare 
not  think  of  it ;  it  drives  me  out  of  my  senses. 
I  feel — as  if  I  must  break  and  dash  to  pieces 
everything  with  these  fists." 

"  And  yet  you  must  pull  yourself  together,  my 


92  THE  WISH, 


boy,"  said  the  old  man,  *'and  tell  me  everything 
successively  ;  for  that  is  the  only  way  to  throw 
light  upon  the  mystery." 

There  ensued  a  silence  in  the  dark  room.  The 
old  man  trembled  in  every  limb.  He  saw  the 
outlines  of  the  massive  figure  that  stood  out 
darkly  against  the  light  window  of  the  chamber ; 
he  saw  the  heaving  of  the  chest  which  rose  and 
sank  and  panted  and  groaned  like  the  crater  of 
a  volcano ;  he  felt  on  his  skin  the  hot  waves 
of  breath  from  Robert's  mouth. 

"  Pull  yourself  together,  my  boy,"  he  repeated 
softly. 

Robert  waged  a  conflict  within  himself  Then 
he  stretched  himself  as  if  with  newly  awakening 
energy  and  said : 

"  All  right,   uncle  ;  you   shall  know  all.  .  .  , 

"  Since  the  day  on  which  she  so  proudly  and 
coldly  refused  my  offer  I  had  not  met  her  again. 
It  is  true  she  came  as  before  to  the  manor  to 
look  after  the  child  and  the  household.  I  know 
now  that  it  was  for  Martha's  and  not  for  my 
sake  ;  but  there  was  a  silent  understanding 
between    us,   so   that    we   avoided    meeting    each 


THE  WISH,  93 


Other.  She  chose  the  hours  when  she  knew  I 
was  busy  out  in  the  sheds  and  stables,  and  I  did 
not  return  to  the  house  until  I  had  seen  her 
disappear  through  the  gate. 

"  On  Tuesday,  as  it  happened,  I  was  obliged 
to  go  out  to  the  manor  farm  ;  but  half  a  mile 
outside  the  town,  on  that  bad  road,  my  axle 
broke.  As  I  had  taken  no  driver  with  me,  and 
far  and  wide  there  was  no  one  in  sight,  I  myself 
mounted  the  harnessed  horse  and  rode  back  to 
fetch  help.  At  the  manor  the  overseer  told  me 
that  the  young  lady  had  gone  home  some  time 
before.  It  was,  in  fact,  already  beginning  to  grow 
very  dark.  *  Well,  then  there's  no  danger,'  I 
think  to  myself,  and  walk  into  the  house. 

"When  I  open  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  I 
see  in  the  dusk  a  dark  shadow  that  flits  hur- 
riedly out  of  the  room. 

"  '  Who  may  that  be  ? '  I  think,  and  follow  in 
pursuit. 

"In  the  child's  room  I  find — her — just  as  she 
is  trying  hard  to  unbolt  the  door  leading  to  the 
corridor,  which,  as  you  know,  is  always  kept 
locked  on  account  of  the  draught. 


94  THE  WISH, 


"Then,  uncle,  it  comes  over  me  as  if  I  must 
rush  towards  her ;  but  just  in  time  I  recollect 
who  she  is — and  who  I  am. 

"  I  see  how  her  hands  are  trembling.  *  Do 
not  be  angry  with  me,  Olga,'  I  said,  stammer- 
ing ;  *  I  did  not  wish  to  do  you  any  harm.  I 
am  only  here  by  chance.  I  will  henceforth 
arrange  so  that  you  may  never  meet  me.' 

"  Then  she  lets  her  hands  drop,  and  gives  me 
a  look  that  makes  me  feel  hot  and  cold  all  over. 

*  Martha  never  looked  at  me  like  that,*  I  think 
to  myself.  I  want  to  speak,  but  the  words  will 
not  come,  for  I  am  so  confused  and  embarrassed. 
She  stands  pressing  her  tall  figure  close  up  to 
the  door,  as  if  to  take  refuge  there  from  me.  I 
hear  her  heavy,  feverish  breathing.     *  Olga,'  I  say, 

*  it  was  presumption  on  my  part  that  I  ever 
dared  to  think  of  gaining  your  hand ;  I  know 
very  well  that  I  am  not  worthy  of  you.  I  beg 
of  you,  forget  all  about  it ;  I  will  never  remind 
you  of  it' 

"  And  at  this  moment,  uncle — how  shall  I 
describe  it  to  you  ? — leave  me  for  a  second — 
the     memory — yet    what    boots    it  ? — I    will    be 


THE  WISH,  95 


strong,  uncle — I  will  pull  myself  together — at 
this  moment  she  rushes  towards  me,  clasps  me 
round,  covers  my  face  with  kisses,  and  then 
suddenly  she  sinks  down  with  a  sigh  and  lies 
there  at  my  feet  as  if  felled  by  a  stroke.  I  gaze 
down  upon  her  like  one  in  a  dream. 

***It  is  not  true,'  I  cry  to  myself;  *it  is  mad- 
ness. You  were  ready  to  look  up  to  her  as  to 
a  goddess,  and  now  she  throws  herself  away  on 
one  who  is  not  worthy  of  her.' 

"I  hardly  dared  to  touch  her;  but  I  had  to 
raise  her  up  ;  and  when  I  held  her  in  my  arms 
she  began  to  sob  bitterly,  as  if  she  would  cry 
her  very  soul  out.  *  Olga,  why  are  you  crying?* 
say  I.  *A11  is  well  now.'  But  even  I,  giant  of 
a  fellow  as  I  am,  start  crying  like  a  little  child. 

"  *  Forgive,  me,  Robert  1 '  I  hear  her  voice  at 
my  ear  ;  *  I  have  grieved  you  sorely,  but  I  will 
never — never  do  so  again.* 

"  *  And  will  you  always  love  me  now  ? '  I  ask ; 
for  even  now  I  cannot  realise  it  yet. 

"*0h,  you — you,'  she  says,  *I  love  you  more 
than  anything  else  in  the  world,'  and  hides  her 
face  upon  my  neck. 


96  THE  WISH. 


"  But  now,  uncle,  hear  what  followed  !  When 
I  see  her  dark  head  of  curls  lying  so  submis- 
sively upon  my  shoulder  the  question  arises 
within  me  :  *  Is  this  the  same  Olga  who,  a  few 
days  ago,  turned  from  you  so  calmly  and 
proudly  when  you  modestly  and  humbly  asked 
her  consent?' 

"So  I  said  to  her:  *  Olga,'  said  I,  'how  could 
you  torture  me  so?  Have  I  become  a  different 
man  in  this  short  space  of  time  ? '  Then  I  see 
her  grow  as  white  as  the  chalk  on  the  walls,  and 
hear  her  voice  in  my  ear :  '  Do  not  question  me  ; 
for  God's  sake  do  not  question  me  ! ' 

"  A  feeling  of  terror  awakens  within  me  lest  I 
may  perhaps  lose  her  to-morrow — as  I  have  won 
her  to-day. 

" '  Olga,'  say  I,  *  if  you  are  so  changeable  in 
your  decisions,  who  will  give  me  surety ?' 

"  I  stop  short,  for  in  her  face  lies  something 
which  commands  silence.  She  tears  herself  away 
from  me  and  flings  herself  into  a  chair. 

"'As  you  wish  to  know,'  she  says,  and  the 
while  with  darkening  brows  stares  upon  the 
ground — '  I    was    afraid — I    doubted    your    love, 


THE  WISH,  97 


and  thought  you  might  let  me  feel  that  I  came 
to  you  without  a  penny ' 

"And  with  that  the  lie  makes  her  face  all 
aflame. 

"  *  Olga/    I   cry  out,  *  could   you   think   that  of 

me  ?     Do  you  remember '     What  I  reminded 

her  of  was  one  night  on  her  father's  estate  when 
I  came  wooing  Martha  and  thought  to  return 
sadly  with  a  refusal  ;  for  Martha  was  ready  to 
sacrifice  herself  and  her  happiness,  so  that  I 
might  marry  another.  Then  she — Olga— had 
come  to  me  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  and 
had  opened  my  eyes  for  me,  blind  fool  that  I 
was,  and  spoken  words  to  me,  words  full  of  con- 
tempt for  mammon,  which  sounded  like  Love's 
song  of  triumph  in  my  ears.  Those  words  I 
spoke  to  her  now  ;  for  each  one  was  indelibly 
stamped  on  my  memory. 

"  'At  that  time,  then — you  had  such  brave  and 
generous  thoughts — when  you  spoke  on  Martha's 
behalf,'  I  cried  out  to  her,  *  and  now — when  they 

apply    to    yourself '     I    look    into    her    face, 

which  is  trying  to  smile  and  ever  smiling  ;  but 
this  smile  grew  rigid,  and  in  the  midst  of  it  she 


98  THE  WISH, 


closed  her  eyes  and  fell  down  fainting,  like  a  log 
of  wood. 

"  It  was  trouble  enough  to  bring  her  back  to 
life;  for  I  did  not  care  to  call  in  any  help. 
Quite  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  lay  there — not 
much  otherwise  than  she  is  lying  now — then  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and  for  a  long  time  gazed 
silently  into  my  face — so  sorrowfully,  so  wearily 
and  hopelessly,  that  I  quite  trembled  for  her. 
And  thereupon  she  folded  her  hands  and  spoke 
up  to  me  softly  and  imploringly  : 

"  *  Give  me  time,  Robert ;  I  have  overtaxed  my 
strength.     I  must  first  grow  accustomed  to  it ' 

"I,  however,  was  so  filled  with  the  exuberance 
of  my  new  happiness  that  I  believed  I  could  by 
force  compel  her  too  to  be  happy.  '  If  we  love 
each  other,  Olga,'  I  cried,  *  and  the  deceased 
says  "  Yes "  and  "Amen  ''  to  our  union,  I  should 
like  to  see  who  could  object  !  Therefore  be 
brave  and  cheerful,  my  child  ! '  But  she  was 
anything  but  brave  or  cheerful.  And  not  till 
now — when  she  is  dead — have  I  realised  how 
utterly  miserable  and  broken  down  she  was  as 
she  lay  there  on  the  cushions — she  who  as  a  rule 


THE  WISH.  99 


was  so  proud  and  severe  in  her  behaviour  to 
herself  and  others.  It  was  as  if  some  intense 
sorrow  had  cut  the  innermost  nerve  of  her  life 
in  twain.  That  is  all  clear  to  me  now,  but  then 
I  did  not  see  it — I  would  not  see  it ;  and  I 
w^ent  on  remonstrating  with  her,  comforting  her 
as  I  thought.  She  listened  to  me,  but  said 
nothing ;  only  now  and  then  she  nodded  her 
head,  and  a  smile  of  unutterable  sadness  and 
weariness  played  about  her  lips. 

"  I  put  it  all  down  to  the  excitement  of  the 
moment  and  to  the  sadness  of  the  last  few  years, 
which  must  rise  up  once  more  all  the  mightier 
within  her,  now  that,  for  her  too,  a  new  happi- 
ness was  dawning  to  supplant  it. 

" '  And  the  first  thing  we  do,'  said  I,  *  Olga, 
shall  be  to  visit  the  churchyard.  When  we  have 
stood  at  Martha's  grave,  my  mother's  resistance 
and  the  ill-will  of  the  whole  world  need  no 
longer  affect  us.' 

"  Then  she  let  her  hands  drop  from  her  face, 
looked  at  me  with  great  terror-stricken  eyes,  and 
asked  in  a  perfectly  toneless  voice  :  *  You  want 
to  go  to  the  churchyard  with  me  ? ' 


THE  WISH, 


" '  Yes,  with  you/  I  answered  ;  *  and  now,  at 
once,  if  you  are  willing.' 

*'Then  a  shudder  ran  through  her  frame,  and 
in  a  strangely  hoarse  tone  she  said  :  *  Have 
patience  till  to-morrow ;  to-morrow  I  will  do 
what  you  wish/ 

*'' Yes,  my  dear,  good 'child,'  I  then  said  ;  *put 
all  foolish  fancies  out  of  your  head  by  to- 
morrow, and  think  to  yourself  that  she  is  not 
angry  with  us.  We  shall  certainly  not  forget 
her !  And  must  not  our  mutual  grief  for  her 
bind  us  all  the  more  closely  together  for  the 
whole  of  our  lives?  Her  memory  will  always 
be  with  us ;  and  do  you  not  also  believe  that 
from  her  whole  heart  she  would  bless  our  union 
if  she  could  look  down  upon  us  from  heaven  ? 
Has  she  not  left  us  her  child  as  a  legacy,  that 
we  might  watch  over  it  together,  and  not  sur- 
render it  to  any  stranger  ? ' 

"  Then  she  threw  herself  down  in  front  of  the 
little  cot,  in  which  the  little  creature  lay  blissfully 
dozing,  and  pressed  her  face  against  its  little  head. 

"Thus  she  lay  for  a  long  time,  and  I  let 
her  lie. 


THE  WISH,  loi 


"When  she  rose  up,  the  rigid  calm  once  more 
rested  upon  her  face  that  we  were  wont  to  see 
there.  She  gave  me  her  hand,  and  said :  *  Go, 
my  friend  ;  leave  me  alone/  And  I  went,  for  I 
was  ready  in  all  things  to  do  her  bidding ;  I  did 
not  even  embrace  her. 

"A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  I  saw  her  cross 
the  courtyard.  I  waited  at  the  window  ;  but 
she  did  not  look  back  any  more. 

"  Next  morning — well,  you  know,  uncle,  how 
I  found  her  then.  And  at  that  moment  I  was 
as  if  struck  by  lightning.  Uncle,  I  may  grow 
old  and  grey — that  moment  will  destroy  every 
pleasure,  and  every  laugh  will  die  away  from  my 
lips  as  its  consequence.  But  at  least  I  might 
live.  I  might  drag  on  this  miserable  existence, 
so  that  my  child  should  not  be  deprived  of  its 
modest  share  of  happiness.  Only  that  one  thing 
I  must  know — I  must  be  freed  from  that  one 
horrible  idea,  else  I  cannot  go  on— I  cannot, 
however  hard  I  try.  Else  I  shall  rot  away  alive. 
.  .  .  Some  one  must  arise,  even  if  it  be  from  the 
other  side  of  the  grave,  and  must  tell  me  where- 
le  died  !'' 


THE  WISH. 


Once  more  there  was  silence  in  the  dark  room. 
Nothing  was  audible  but  the  heavy  breathing  of 
the  two  men  and  the  rustling  of  a  rat,  which 
had  accompanied  Robert's  story  with  the  mono- 
tonous, hollow  music  of  its  gnawing, 
^ihe  old  man  struggled  hard  within  himself. 
Should  he  treacherously  disclose  the  secret  of  her 
life  as  he  had  already  betrayed  the  secret  of  her 
death?  But  was  there  not,  in  this  case,  a  good 
deed  to  be  done?  Did  it  not  mean  freeing  him 
whom  she  had  loved  above  all  things,  from  the 
torments  to  which — either  a  mistaken  idea  or  a 
secret  consciousness  of  guilt — condemned  him  ? 
It  seemed  like  a  miracle,  like  special  heavenly 
grace,  that  the  mouth  which  seemed  closed  for 
ever,  should  once  more  be  permitted  to  open,  to 
bring  peace  to  the  loved  one. 

The  old  man  gave  a  deep  sigh.  He  had  taken 
his  resolution.  "  And  supposing  she  should  have 
taken  thought,  Robert,"  he  said,  "to  give  an 
account  to  you  from  beyond  the  grave  } " 

Robert  uttered  a  cry,  and  clutched  his  wrists. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  uncle?" 

"  If  you  had  not  burrowed  in  your  grief  like  a 


THE  WISH,  103 


mole,  and  taken  flight  before  every  human  face, 
you  would  have  known  long  ago  what  is  in  every 
one's  mouth,  namely,  that  on  the  morning  of  her 
death  I  received  a  letter  from  her " 

"  You — uncle — from  her ?  " 

"  Goodness,  my  boy,  you  are  breaking  the  bones 
in  my  body.  Do  first  listen  to  me  patiently" — 
and  he  told  him  the  contents  of  the  letter. 

Robert  had  started  to  his  feet  and  was  ner- 
vously running  his  fingers  through  his  hair. 
His  eyes,  which  were  staring  down  upon  the 
old  man,  gleamed  through  the  darkness. 

"  And  the  book — give  it  to  me — where  is  it  ?  " 

The  old  man  informed  him  how  great  was  the 
danger  in  which  Olga's  secret  was  hovering,  and 
what  anxiety  he  had  himself  passed  through  on 
its  account. 

"  Wait,  I  will  fetch  it,"  cried  Robert,  and  hurried 
towards  the  door. 

The  old  man  held  him  back.  "  Your  mother 
has  the  key — take  care  that  her  suspicion  is  not 
aroused." 

"  The  door  is  half  broken,  I  will  smash  it 
entirely." 


I04  THE  WISH, 


"They  will  hear  you  downstairs." 

"  They  are  enjoying  themselves  much  too 
well ! "  answered  Robert,  and  laughed  grimly. 
"  Come,  we  will  go  together." 

And  through  a  back  door,  along  the  dark 
corridor,  up  the  creaking  stairs,  the  two  men 
crept  like  two  thieves  who  have  come  to  take 
advantage  of  some  festive  occasion. 

Opening  the  door  proved  even  easier  than  they 
had  hoped.  The  loosened  hinge  of  the  lock 
moved  out  of  its  joints  almost  without  pressure. 

At  the  door  both  stopped,  overcome  with 
emotion,  as  the  dark  room,  faintly  illumined  by 
the  starry  clearness  of  the  night,  lay  before  their 
eyes.  All  traces  of  death  had  been  removed  : 
the  empty  bedstead — whose  supports  stood  out 
darkly  against  the  grey  wall — alone  indicated 
that  its  occupant  had  sought  another  resting- 
place.  The  odour  of  her  dresses,  the  faint  scent 
of  her  soap,  still  filled  the  room  with  their 
fragrance.  Even  the  towels  on  which  she  had 
dried  herself  were  still  hanging,  in  fantastic  white- 
ness, near  the  black  Dutch  stove. 

Robert,  unable  to  keep  himself  upright,  dropped 


THE  WISH.  105 


down  upon  a  chair,  and  in  long,  eager  breaths, 
which  resembled  a  sobbing,  he  drank  in  the 
fragrance  of  the  room.  It  was  as  if  he  were 
trying  to  absorb  into  his  being  the  very  last 
trace  of  her  life. 

A  short,  dazzling  gleam  of  light  darted  through 
the  room,  danced  along  the  walls,  strayed  with  a 
yellow  flicker  across  the  writing-desk,  and  made 
the  white-draped  dressing-table  stand  out  from 
the  darkness  like  some  crouching  phantom. 

The  old  man  had  struck  a  match  and  was 
groping  by  its  aid  for  the  little  green-shaded 
lamp  which  had  lighted  Olga's  sleepless  nights. 
It  stood  on  the  pedestal,  in  the  same  place  where 
Olga  had  extinguished  it  when  about  to  plunge 
into  eternal  night.  Its  glass  bowl  was  yet  nearly 
full  of  petroleum.  She  had  been  in  a  hurry  to 
get  to  rest. 

Carefully  he  lifted  down  the  globe  and  lighted 
the  wick.  With  a  peaceful  twilight  glow  the 
veiled  flame  cast  its  light  across  the  silent 
chamber.  Then  he  stepped  up  to  the  book- 
shelf, where  the  gilded  volumes  were  ranged  in 
rows  and  gleamed  in  the  light.     His   hand  for  a 


io6  THE  WISH. 


little  while  groped  along  the  wall  and  then  pulled 
out  to  the  light  some  blue,  roUed-up  object. 

"  We  have  it,  Robert,"  he  cried,  triumphantly  ; 
"  come  away  ! " 

The  latter  shook  his  head  in  silence.  The  old 
man  urged  him  again  ;  then  he  said :  "  We  will 
read  here,  uncle — here — where  she  wrote  it." 

"What  if  any  one  should  surprise  us?"  cried 
the  old  man,  fearfully. 

Robert  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  pointed  to 
the  floor 

The  old  man  was  satisfied  ;  they  softly  drew  up 
their  chairs  within  light  of  the  lamp.  After  this 
nothing  was  audible  but  the  rushing  of  the  winter 
wind  as  it  swept  through  the  leafless  lime-tops, 
and  the  monotonously  hoarse  voice  of  the  reader, 
accompanied  from  time  to  time  by  the  chorus  of 
the  funeral  party — now  swelling  up  loudly,  now 
dying  away  to  a  whisper. 


VI. 


"  Forgive  me,  sister,  for  invoking  from  the  grave 
your  transfigured  shade.  In  remembrance  of  the 
deep  love  you  bore  me,  of  the  warmth  with 
which  my  heart  beat  for  you,  suffer  it,  if  I  attempt 
to  expiate  the  guilt  that  weighs  so  heavily  upon 
me^and  whose  yoke  I  must  drag  along  with  me 
to  the  end^oTmy^days I  Let  me  once  more  live 
through  all  theTove  and  kindness  you  bestowed 
upon  me,  and  in  the  memory  thereof  forget  the 
horrors  of  loneliness  that,  like  the  breath  of  your 
tomb,  chill  my  very  bones.  


"  What  a  fool,  what  a  wicked  creature  I  was,  to 
feel  lonely  while  you  yet  dwelt  on  earth !  Your 
love  was  the  very  air  that  I  breathed !  t  Your 
smile  was  the  sunshine  that  animated  me,  your 
comforting,  exhorting  words  were  like  the  voice 
of  God  within  us,  to  which  we  hearken  reverently 
without   understanding.  '    And   how   did    I    thank 


io8  THE  WISH, 


you,  sister  ?  I  grew  a  stranger  to  you — in  sorrow 
and  misery  I  have  to  think  of  you,  and  the  con- 
sciousness of  guilt  appals  me  when  the  soughing 
wind  whispers  your  name  in  my  ear.  Between 
us  there  stands  a  wild  phantom  with  flaming 
eyes — terrible  and  distorted,  its  hair  encircled  by 
snakes — stretching  out  its  claw-like  hands  towards 
me,  and  separating  me  from  you  for  ever.  If  it 
were  no  phantom,  but  flesh  and  blood,  if  what 
I  committed  were  a  sin,  a  crime,  I  would  wrestle 
with  it,  I  would  overcome  it  with  the  last  strength 
of  my  failing  energy,  or  allow  myself  to  be 
strangled  in  its  bloody  grip.  But  it  is  intangible, 
it  melts  away  into  empty  air — a  spectre  that 
mocks  me,  a  mist  that  clouds  my  reason,  and  by 
its  poison  is  slowly  destroying  me.  A  wish ! 
._  "  A  wish — it  is  nothing  more  ! 

"I  wonder  if  you  recognised  it?  I  wonder  if  it 
was  reflected  in  your  dying  gaze?  I  wonder  if 
at  your  bedside,  when  you,  good,  noble  soul, 
gave  up  the  last  breath  of  a  life  that  was  all 
love,  you  saw  this  spectre — a  spectre  born  of  envy 
and  ingratitude,  which  I — miserable  creature — 
dragged^H^o  your  pure  habitation? 


THE  WISH,  109 


"  If  I  had  still  my  lisping  ^hildish  beliefs,  I 
would  pour  out  the  wretchedness  of  my  soul 
before  God,  the  Great  and  Merciful ;  but  there 
is  no  one  on  earth  or  in  heaven  to  take  pity  on 
me,  none  but  your  glorified  image. 

"  Woe  is  me ! — that,  too,  turns  away  from  me. 
Weeping,    it    veils    itself,    when    yonder    demon 
approaches  my  soul !  [  And  yet,  was  it  not  human 
to   feel    as    I    did  ?      Why   are    we   not   heavenly  j- 
bodies,  void  of  desire,  pure  and  ethereal  ?     Why 
are  we  born  of  dust,  why  do  we  cleave  to  dust, 
eat  dust  and  return  to  dust  when  we  have  thrown 
off  this  great  fraud   of  life  ?     The   great  fraud  of  ^ 
my    life     I    will    write    down     here — the     fraud 
towards    myself — towards    you,    and    towards     a    •' 
third  as  well,  who  was  pure  and  good — and  who  J 
yet  was  the  cause  of  it  all.  ^ 

"  I  was  a  quiet,  lonely  child. 

"He  who   is   always  surrounded  by   love,   and 

who  has   never  known   anything   but   love,  often 

learns  most  easily  to  suffice  to  himself.     And  yet 

in  my  heart,  too,  there  lay  an  inexhaustible  store 

of    love.      I   squandered   it   on   dumb    creatures, 
8 


no  THE  WISH. 


petted  the  dogs,  kissed  the  cats,  and  hugged  the 
geese.  One  of  my  passions  was  to  play  in  the 
stable  :  there  I  lolled  about  on  the  soft,  warm 
straw,  under  the  very  hoofs  of  my  special  pets, 
that  never  did  me  any  harm  ;  or  I  climbed  into 
the  manger,  where  I  could  sit  for  hours  and  gaze 
lovingly  into  my  friends'  great  brown  eyes.  But 
my  favourite  place  was  in  the  dog-kennel.  There 
they  often  found  me  asleep  at  midday,  and  it  was 
no  easy  matter  to  get  me  out  again  :  for  Nero, 
who  was  as  a  rule  so  quiet  and  good,  showed 
his  teeth  to  any  one,  even  to  his  master,  who 
came  within  reach  of  his  chain  on  such  occasions. 
My  tender  affection  extended  also  to  the  vege- 
table kingdom.  The  rose-trees  appeared  to  me 
like  enchanted  princesses,  whose  fate  I  bitterly 
bewailed ;  the  sunflowers  were  Catholic  priests 
in  full  canonicals,  and  the  dahlias  Polish  maid- 
servants with  red  head-dresses.  Thus  I  succeeded 
in  assembling  around  me  in  the  garden  the  whole 
human  world,  and  found  the  counterfeit  present- 
ment preferable  to   the  original,  for  it  submitted 

in  silence  when   I  ordained   its  fate. 

*  *  *  *  « 


THE  WISH.  Ill 


"  The  estate  that  my  father  had  rented  was  the 
old  feudal  possession  of  a  Polish  magnate,  which 
lay  close  to  the  Prussian  frontier,  on  a  hill  whose 
one  side  sloped  down  gradually  in  a  weed-grown 
park  towards  barren  fields,  while  the  other  dropped 
down  precipitately  towards  a  rivulet,  on  whose 
opposite  bank  lay  a  dirty  little  Polish  frontier 
village. 

"When  one  stood  on  the  brink  cf  the  precipice 
one  looked  down  upon  the  tumble-down  shingle 
roofs,  through  the  crevices  of  which  smoke  issued 
forth,  and  could  see  right  into  the  midst  of  the 
wretched  traffic  of  the  miry  street,  where  half- 
naked  children  wallowed  in  the  gutter,  women 
crouched  idly  on  the  doorsteps,  and  the  men  in 
ragged  fustian  coats  trooped,  with  their  spades 
on  their  shoulders,  towards  the  alehouse. 

"  Verily  there  was  little  that  was  attractive  about 
this  small  town,  and  the  rabble  of  frontier 
Cossacks,  that  trotted  to  and  fro  sleepily  on 
their  cat-like  nags,  did  not  enhance  its  charms. 
But  yet,  to  my  childish  ^y^s>,  it  was  enveloped 
in  inexpressible  glamour,  the  sensation  of  which 
creeps   over  me  even   to-day,   when    I    picture  to 


THE  WISH. 


myself  how,  bewitched  by  all  these  wonderful 
visions,  I  sat  for  hours  motionless  on  the  grass, 
and  stared  down  upon  the  throng  in  which  the 
figures  were  no  larger  than  the  wooden  dolls  in 
my  box  of  toys. 

"  I  had  been  forbidden  to  go  down,  nor  had  I 
any  desire  to  do  so,  since  I  had  once  been  almost 
crushed  to  death  between  two  wheels  in  the 
crowd  of  the  weekly  market  to  which  my  father 
had  taken  me. 

-""^  It  was  only  delightful  when  from  up  there, 
raised  high  above  the  dirt  and  screaming,  one 
could  gaze  down  upon  this  world  of  ants,  which 
seemed  so  tiny  that,  like  the  Creator  Himself,  one 
could  command  it  with  a  look,  but  which  grew 
larger  and  larger,  and  assumed  weird,  giant  pro- 
portions the  more  one  attempted  to  penetrate 
into  it.        ^ 


"  It  is  remarkable  that  just  of  those  persons 
who  were  most  closely  connected  with  me  through- 
out my  life,  I  have  preserved  but  a  vague  recol- 
lection   as    they   were    at    that    time.      Possibly 


THE  WISH.  113 


because  later  impressions  effaced  these  earliest 
ones. 

"  My  father  was  a  small,  sturdy  man,  of  thick- 
set stature,  with  close- cut  black  beard  and  hair, 
clad  in  high,  brightly  blacked  boots,  and  a 
greyish-green  shaggy  jacket,  who  laughed  at  me 
when  he  saw  me,  gave  me  a  friendly  slap  on  the 
back,  or  pinched  my  arm,  and  then  was  gone 
again.  He  was  always  busy,  poor  papa ;  as  long 
as  he  lived  I  never  saw  him  give  himself  a 
moment's  rest. 

"  Mama  was  then  already  very  stout,  was  con- 
stantly eating  sweet-stuff,  and  loved  her  afternoon 
nap ;  but  she,  too,  was  at  work  from  morning 
till  night,  though  she  only  reluctantly  betook 
herself  from  place  to  place,  and  did  not  like 
one  to  hang  on  to  her,  or  to  bother  her  with 
questions. 

"  At  that  time  another  member  of  the  family 
was  Cousin  Robert,  who  had  been  sent  over  by 
our  Prussian  relations  to  learn  farming  from  papa  ; 
a  big  fellow,  broad-shouldered  and  thick-necked, 
with  fair  tufts  of  beard,  which  I  was  wont  to 
pull  when  he  took  me  on  his   knee  to  instil   the 


114  THE   WISH. 


ABC  into  me  by  means  of  bent  liquorice 
sticks.  I  think  we  were  always  good  friends, 
though  he  probably  was  no  more  to  me  than  the 
other  articled  pupils  ;  for  his  picture,  as  he  was 
then,  has  become  hazy,  exactly  like  all  the 
others. 

"  Only  one  scene  do  I  remember  distinctly, 
when  on  a  summer  evening  he  had  caught  hold 
of  Martha  by  her  fair  plaits  and  was  racing  after 
her,  laughing  and  screaming,  through  the  yard, 
and  the  house,  and  the  garden. 

"  *  What  are  you  up  to  with  Martha,  you  rascal  ? ' 
cried  papa  to  him. 

" '  She  has  been  vexing  me,'  he  answered,  without 
letting  go  of  her,  while  she  kept  on  screaming. 

"  *  When  I  was  your  age  I  knew  better  how  to 
revenge  myself  on  a  girl,'  laughingly  said  papa, 
who  always  liked  to  have  his  little  joke. 

"'Well,  how?'  he  asked. 

"*0h,  if  you  don't  know  that  yourself!'  replied 
papa. 

"  '  One  just  gives  her  a  kiss.  Master  Robert,'  said 
an  old  gardener,  who  happened  to  be  passing  with 
a  watering-can. 


THE  WISH,  115 


"  Then  I  can  see  him  yet,  how  he  suddenly  let  the 
plaits  drop  from  his  hands,  stood  there  suffused 
with  blushes  and  did  not  know  where  to  look. 
Papa  shook  with  laughter  and  Martha  ran  off  as 
fast  as  she  could.  When  I  tried  her  door,  she  had 
locked  herself  in.  Not  till  supper-time  did  she  put 
in  an  appearance  again.  Her  hair  hung  in  disorder 
over  her  forehead,  and  beneath  it  she  looked  out 
dreamily  and  scared. 

"When,  to-day,  I  compare  the  pale,  thin,  little 
suffering  face  that  fills  my  whole  soul,  with  yonder 
rosy,  chubby,  roguish  countenance  as  it  gleams 
upon  me  sometimes  from  my  earliest  childhood,  I 
can  hardly  realise  that  both  can  have  belonged  to 
one  and  the  same  being. 

"  How  her  long  fair  plaits  fluttered  in  the  wind  ! 
With  what  precodgus,  Jhousewifely  care  her  eyes 
scanned  the  long  table  where  we  all  sat  together, 
with  apprentices  and  inspectors,  waiting  to  be  filled 
— a  whole  collection  of  hungry  mouths.  And  how 
lustily  each  one  helped  himself,  when,  with  her 
merry  smile,  she  offered  the  dishes. 

"  Now  only  do  I  begin  to  understand  what  a  pil- 
grimage of  suffering  she  had  to  make,  now  that  I 


ii6  THE  WISH, 


am  myself  preparing  for  the  long,  sad  journey,  at 
the  end  of  which  a  lonely  grave  awaits  me,  more 
lonesome  even  than  hers. 
f     "  In  those  days  I  was  a  child  and  looked  up  un- 
i^  suspectingly  to  her,  who  became  my  teacher  when 
\   she  herself  had  hardly  put  off  childish  ways. 
/        "  It  was  at  that  time  that  our  affairs  began  to  take 
a  downward  course.     Papa  had  to  struggle  against 
debts  ;  failure  of  crops,  and  floods — for  three  years 
in  succession — destroyed  any  hope  of  improvement, 
and  monetary  cares  gathered  thicker  and  thicker 
around  our  home. 

"In  the  household  everything  not  absolutely 
necessary  was  dispensed  with,  our  intercourse  with 
the  neighbouring  estate  owners  was  restricted,  and 
even  the  old  governess  who  had  educated  Martha 
and  was  now  to  have  fulfilled  her  mission  upon  me, 
had  to  leave  the  estate. 

"  Martha,  who  was  seven  years  older  than  I  and 
just  preparing  to  grow  into  her  first  long  dress, 
stepped  into  her  place.  In  this  way,  purely  sisterly 
relations  could  not  grow  into  existence  between  us. 
She  was  the  protectress  and  I  was  the  ward,  until 
after  we  exchanged  our  roles. 


THE  WISH.  117 


**  I  may  have  been  about  fourteen  years  old,  when 
it  struck  me  for  the  first  time  that  Martha  had 
strangely  altered  in  manner  and  appearance.  I 
ought,  indeed,  to  have  noticed  it  before,  for  I  was 
accustomed  to  look  about  me  with  open  eyes,  but 
in  the  slow  monotony  of  everyday  life  one  easily 
'  overlooks  the  destruction  that  sorrow  and  time  are 
working  around  us. 

"  Now  I  took  heed,  and  saw  her  face  grow  thinner 
and  thinner,  saw  that  the  colour  faded  more  and 
more  from  her  cheeks,  and  that  her  eyes  sank 
deeper  and  deeper  into  dark  hollows.  Nor  did  she 
any  longer  sing,  and  her  laugh  had  a  peculiar  tired, 
hoarse  sound  that  hurt  my  ears  so,  that  I  was  some- 
times on  the  point  of  calling  out  to  her  *  Do  not 
laugh  ! ' 

"At  the  same  time  she  began  to  sicken;  she 
complained  of  headache  and  spasms,  and  only  with 
difficulty  dragged  herself  about  the  house.  Then, 
of  course,  papa  and  mama  were  bound  to  notice 
her  condition  too  ;  they  packed  her  up  in  warm 
wraps,  and,  in  spite  of  her  remonstrance,  drove  w^ith 
her  to  Prussia  to  consult  a  doctor.  He  shrugged 
his  shoulders,  prescribed  steel  pills  and  advised  a 
change  of  air. 


ii8  THE  WISH, 


"Something  else,  too,  he  must  have  advised,  which 
greatly  disturbed  my  parents,  at  least  papa ;  for 
mama,  since  a  long  time  already,  was  not  to  be 
roused  from  her  phlegmatic  composure.  When 
she  dreamily  gazed  out  into  the  distance,  he  often 
looked  at  her  askance,  shook  his  head,  sighed,  and 
slammed  the  door  after  him. 

"  But  however  much  she  might  be  suffering,  she 
would  not  give  up  her  work.  As  long  as  I  can  remem- 
ber, I  have  never  seen  her  idle  even  for  a  moment. 
As  a  child  already  she  stood  with  her  lesson-book 
at  the  cooking-stove,  or  had  an  eye  on  the  wash- 
kitchen,  while  she  wrote  her  German  composition. 
Since  she  was  grown  up,  she  combined  the  duties 
of  my  instruction  with  all  the  cares  which  a  large 
household  imposes  upon  its  manager.  Mama 
had  quite  retired  \x\  virtue  of  her  age,  and  allow^ed 
lier  to  do  and  dispose  as  she  pleased,  if  only  the 
^compotes  and  other  dainties  won  her  approval. 

"  I,  who  was  spoilt  beyond  measure  by  everyone 
in  the  house,  was  ashamed  of  my  inactivity,  and 
endeavoured  to  take  a  part  of  the  responsibility  off 
Martha's  shoulders  ;  but  with  gentle  remonstrance 
she  dissuaded  me. 


THE  WISH,  119 


*'  *  Leave  that,  child/  she  said,  stroking  my 
cheeks  ;  *  you  happen  to  be  the  princess  of  the 
house,  you  had  better  remain  so.' 

"That  hurt  me.  I  could  bear  anything  rather 
than  to  be  repulsed,  when  I  came  with  my  heart 
full  to  overflowing  ofgenerous  resolves.  *      "*^ 

"  One  evening  I  saw  her  crying.    I  slunk  out  into 
the  garden  and  fought  a  hard  battle.      I  almost      V 
choked  with  my  longing  to  help,  but  I  could  not  so      ^ 
far  conquer  myself  as  to  go  up  to  her  and  put  my      ^ 
arms  consolingly  about  her  neck.     When  I  lay  in 
bed,  my  desire  to  comfort  her  came  upon  me  with 
renewed  force  ;  I  got  up,  and  in  my  nightdress,  just 
as  I  was,  I  slipped  out  into  the  dark  corridor. 

"  For  a  long  time  I  stood  outside  her  door,  trem- 
bling with  cold  and  with  fear,  and  with  my  hand 
on  the  door-knob.     At  last  I  took  heart  and  crept  r^- 
in  softly. 

"  She  knelt  before  her  bed  with  her  head  pressed 
into  the  pillows.     She  seemed  to  be  praying.  ^ 

"  I  stopped  at  the  door,  for  I  did  not  venture  to/\ 
disturb  her.  ^ 

"  At  last  she  turned  round,  and  at  sight  of  me 
started  up  abruptly. 


THE  WISH, 


"  *  What  do  you  want  ?  '  she  stammered. 

"  I  clung  to  her,  and  sobbed  fit  to  soften  the  heart 
of  a  stone. 

"  *  Child—  for  Heaven's  sake — what  is  the  matter 
with  you  } '  she  cried. 
V  "  I  was  incapable  of  uttering  a  word.   She,  in  her 

motherly  way,  took  a  large  woollen  shawl,  wrapped 
me  in  it,  and  drew  me  down  upon  her  knee,  though 
I  was  then  already  bigger  than  she. 

"*  Now  confess,  my  darling,  what  ails  you  ?  *  she 
asked,  stroking  my  face. 

"  I  gathered  up  all  my  strength,  and  hiding  my 
face  upon  her  neck,  I  sobbed,  *  Martha — I  want — 
to  help — you.' 

"  A  long  silence  ensued,  and  when  I  raised  up  my 
face  I  saw  an  unutterably  bitter,  sorrowful  smile 
playing  about  her  lips.      And  then  she  took  my 
!  ''^^    head  between  her  hands,  kissed  my  brow  and  said  : 
\\  "  *  Come,  I  will  put  you  to  bed,  child  ;   there  is 

nothing  the  matter  with  me — but  you — you  seem 
to  be  in  a  perfect  fever.' 

"  I  jumped  up  :  *  For  shame,  that  is  horrid  of  you, 
Martha,'  I  cried  ;  *  I  will  not  be  sent  away  like  this. 
I  am  not  ill,  nor  am  \  so  stupid  that  I  cannot  see 


c^ 


THE  WISH. 


how  you  are  pining  away,  and  how  each  day  you 
gulp  down  some  new  sorrow.  If  you  have  no 
confidence  in  me,  I  shall  conclude  that  you  do  not 
wish  to  have  anything  to  do  with  me,  and  all  will 
be  over  between  us/ 

"She   folded   her  hands    in  astonishment,   and 


looked,  at  me. 

"  *  What  has  possessed  you,  child  ? '  she  said,  *  I 
do  not  know  you  thus/ 

"  I  turned  away  and  bit  my  lips  defiantly. 

"  *  Come,  come,  I  will  put  you  to  bed,'  she  urged 
again. 

"  *  I  don't  want — I  can  go  alone,'  I  said.  Then 
she  seemed  to  feel  that  a  word  of  explanation  must 
be  vouchsafed  to  the  child. 

" '  See,  Olga,'  she  said,  drawing  me  down  to  her, 
*  you  are  quite  right,  I  have  many  a  sorrow,  and  if 
you  were  older  and  could  understand,  you  would 
certainly  be  the  first  in  whom  I  sk©uid  CQnfide. 
But  first  you  too  must  learn  to  know  life .' 

"  *  What  more  do  you  know  of  life  than  I  ? '  I 
cried,  still  defiantly. 

"She  only  smiled.     It  cut  me  to  the  heart,  this      .^ 
half-painful,  half-ecstatic  smile.      A  dull  dawning 


^ 


>A^ 


122  THE  WISH, 


presentiment  awoke  within  me,  such  as  one  might 
experience  in  face  of  closed  temple  gates  or 
distant  palm-wafted  islands.  And  Martha  con- 
tinued : 

"  *  Till  then,  however — and  that  will  be  long  ! — I 
must  bear  what  oppresses  me  alone.  Hearty 
thanks,  sister,  for  your  good  intention ;  I  would  love 
you  twice  as  much  for  it,  if  that  were  possible  ; 
and  now  go,  have  your  sleep  out,  we  have  much  to 
learn  to-morrow.' 

**  With  that  she  pushed  me  out  of  the  door. 

"  Like  an  exile  I  stood  outside  on  the  landing  and 
stared  at  the  door  which  had  closed  behind  me  so 
cruelly.  Then  1  leant  my  head  against  the  wall 
and  wept  silently  and  bitterly. 

"  Martha  was  henceforth  doubly  kind  and  affec- 
tionate towards  me,  but  I  would  not  see  it.  I  grew 
reserved  towards  her,  as  she  had  been  towards  me, 
and  deeper  and  deeper  the  bitter  feeling  became 
graven  on  my  soul  that  the  world  did  not  require  my 
love.  Of  course  it  was  not  this  one  occurrence  alone 
which  acted  decisively  upon  my  disposition.  Such 
a  young  creature  as  I  was,  is  too  easily  carried 
away  by  the  tide  of  new  impressions  to  be  lastingly 


^H^  ^: 


THE  WISH.^y^^^jifu^i  123 


influenced  by  a  few  such  moments  ;  and,  as  a 
matter  of  fact,  it  was  not  long:  before  I  had  for- 
gotten that  evening.     But  what  I  did  not  forget 


was  the  idea  that  no  one  dwelton  earthwko  was 


willing  to  share  his  sorrows  with  me,  and  that  I 
was  thrown  back  upon  myself  and   my  booEsuntil 
such  day  as  I  should  be  declared  ripe  to  take  part  I 
in  the  life  of  the  living.  I 

"Deeper  and  deeper  I  dived  down  into  the 
treasures  of  the  poets,  of  whom  none  drove  me 
from  his  holy  of  holies.  I  learnt  to  feel  wretched 
and  exalted  with  Tasso  ;  I  knew  what  Manfred 
sought  on  icy  Alpine  snowfields  ;  with  Thekla  I 
mourned  the  loss  of  the  earthly  happiness  I  had 
enjoyed,  of  the  life  and  love  that  I  had  out-lived 
and  out-loved.  But,  above  all,  Iphigenia  was  my 
heroine  and  my  ideal. 

"  Through  her  my  young,  lonely  soul  was  filled 
with  all  the  charm  of  being  unintelligible ;  it 
seemed  to  be  the  mission  of  my  life  to  go  forth 
like  her  upon  earth  as  a  blessed  priestess,  sub- 
limely void  of  earthly  desire  ;  and  if  to  this  end 
I  might  have  donned  yon  white  Grecian  robes 
whose  noble  draperies  would  so  splendidly  have 


124  THE  WISH. 


suited  my  early-developed  figure,  my  bliss  would 
have  been  complete  4 

"  Outwardly  I  was  in  those  years  an  obstinate, 
supercilious  creature,  who  was  lavish  with  rude 
answers,  and  fond  of  getting  up  from  table  in  the 
middle  of  a  meal  if  anything  did  not  suit  her 
taste. 

"  In  spite  of  all  this — or  perhaps  just  for  this 
reason — I  was  petted  by- all,  and  my  will,  in  so  far 
as  a  child's  will  can  be  taken  into  account,  was 
considered  authoritative  by  the  whole  house.  At 
fifteen  I  was  as  tall  and  as  big  as  to-day,  and 
already  there  was  found  here  and  there  some 
gallant  squire's  son  who  would  say  that  I  was 
much,  much  better  looking  than  all  the  others, 
especially  than  Martha.  That  made  me  indignant, 
for  my  vanity  was  not  yet  fully  developed. 
^''  "'About  that  time,  I  dreamt  one  night  that  Martha 
had  died.  When  I  woke,  my  pillows  were  wet 
through  with  tears.  Like  a  criminal  on  that  day 
I  crept  round  my  sister.  I  felt  as  if  I  had  some 
heavy  offence  against  her  on  my  conscience.  - 

"After  dinner  she  had  gone  to  lie  down  for  a 
little  on  the  sofa,  for  she  was  suffering  again  from 


\ 


THE  WISH.  125 


her  headache ;  and  when  I  entered  the  room  and 
saw  her  waxen -pale  face  with  closed  eyes,  hanging 
across  the  sofa-ledge,  I  started  as  if  struck. 

*'  I  felt  as  if  I  really  saw  her  already  as  a  corpse 
before  me. 

"  I  dropped  down  in  front  of  the  sofa  and  covered 
her  lips  and  brow  with  kisses.  Quite  radiantly 
she  opened  her  eyes  and  stared  at  me,  as  if  she 
saw  a  vision;  only  as  consciousness  returned  did 
her  face  grow  serious  and  sad,  as  before. 

"'Well,  well,  my  girl,  what  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  '  she  said.  *  This  is  not  your  usual 
behaviour ! ' 

"And  gently  she  pushed  me  away,  so  that  once 
more  1  stood  alone  with  my  overflowing  heart ; 
but  as  I  was  slinking  away  she  came  after  me,  and 
whispered —  -    >    t  ^  • 

" '  I  love  you  very  much,  my  darling  sister  !  * 

**0n  the  evening  of  the  same  day  I  noticed  that 
she  constantly  kept  smiling  to  herself.  Papa  was 
struck  by  it  too,  for  as  a  rule  it  never  occurred. 
He  took  her  head  between  his  two  hands,  and  said — 

"  *  What  has  come  over  you,  Margell  ?  Why 
you  are  blooming  like  a  flower  to-day/ 


126  THE  WISH. 


"  Then  she  blushed  a  deep  red,  while  I  secretly 
clasped  her  hand  under  the  table,  and  thought  to 
myself,  *  We  know  very  well  what  makes  us  so 
happy.' 

"  Next  morning  papa  came  to  the  breakfast- table 
with  an  open  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  *  A  strange  bird  is  about  to  fly  into  our  nest,' 
he  said,  laughing  ;  *  now  guess  what  his  name  is  ! ' 
And  with  that  he  looked  quite  peculiarly  across  at 
Martha.  She  appeared  to  me  to  have  grown  even 
a  shade  paler,  and  the  coffee-cup  which  she  held  in 
her  hand  shook  audibly. 

"  *  Has  the  bird  been  in  our  nest  before  ? '  she 
asked  slowly  and  softly,  and  did  not  raise  her  eyes. 

"  *  I  should  think  so  indeed  ! '  laughed  papa. 

"*Then  it  is — Robert  Hellinger,'  she  said,  and 
sighed  deeply,  as  if  after  a  hard  effort. 

"*Upon  my  word,  girl,  you  are  one  to  guess/ 
said  papa,  and  shook  his  finger  at  her. 

"  But  she  was  silent,  and  walked  from  the  room 
with  slow,  dragging  steps — nor  did  she  appear 
again  that  morning.  For  my  part  I  kept  pretty 
cool  over  our  cousin's  approaching  visit.  *  His 
image  of  former  days,  as  it  dimly  hovered  in  my 


THE  WISH,  127 


memory,  was  not  such  as  to  inspire  a  romantic 
imagination  of  fifteen  years  with  ardent  dreams  for 
its  sake. 

"  But  Martha's  behaviour  had  struck  me.  Next 
day,  in  the  early  morning,  I  heard  her  walking  up 
and  down  with  long  strides  in  the  guest-rooms. 

"  I  followed  her,  for  I  was  anxious  to  know  what 
she  was  busying  herself  about  in  these  usually 
closed  apartments. 

"  She  had  opened  all  the  windows,  uncovered  the 
beds,  let  down  the  curtains,  and  now  in  her  wooden 
shoes  was  running  amidst  all  this  confusion  from 
one  room  to  the  other.  Her  hands  she  held 
pressed  to  her  face,  and  kept  laughing  to  herself; 
but  the  laugh  sounded  more  like  crying. 

"  When  I  asked  her,  *  What  are  you  doing  here, 
Martha  ? '  she  gave  a  start,  looked  at  me  quite 
confused,  and  seemed  as  if  she  must  first  think 
where  she  was. 

"  *  Don't  you  see — I  am  covering  the  beds/  she 
stammered  after  a  while. 

"*  For  whom,  pray?'  I  asked.- 

"  *  Don't  you  know  we  are  going  to  have  a 
visitor  ?  '  she  answered. 


OFTHE    ^ 


128  THE  WISH. 


"  *  I  suppose  you  are  awfully  pleased  at  the 
prospect?'  I  said,  and  slightly  shrugged  my 
shoulders. 

"  *  Why  should  I  not  be  pleased  ? '  she  replied, 
*  It  is  our  cousin/ 

"'And  nothing  more?'  I  asked,  shaking  my 
finger  at  her  as  I  had  seen  papa  do  the  day 
before. 

"  Then  she  suddenly  grew  very  grave,  and  looked 
at  me  with  her  big,  sad  eyes  so  strangely  and 
reproachfully  that  I  felt  how  all  the  blood  rushed 
to  my  face.  I  turned  away,  and  as  I  could  no 
longer  keep  up  my  superiority,  I  slunk  out  of  the 
door. 

*'  From  this  moment  Cousin  Robert  caused  me 
many  a  thought.  It  seemed  clear  to  me  that  the 
two  loved  each  other,  and  seized  by  the  mysterious 
awe  with  which  the  idea  of  the  great  Unknown  fills 
half-grown  children  of  my  age,  I  began  to  picture 
to  myself  how  such  a  love  might  have  taken  shape. 
I  ran  through  the  wild-growing  shrubs  of  the  park, 
and  said  to  myself,  *  Here  they  enjoyed  their 
secret  walks.'  I  slipped  inside  the  dusky  arbours, 
and  said  to  myself,   *  Here  in  the  moonlight  was 


THE  WISH,  129 


their  trysting-place.'  I  sank  down  upon  the  mossy 
turf-bank,  and  said  to  myself,  *  Here  they  held 
sweet  converse  together/  The  whole  garden,  the 
house,  the  yard,  everything  that  I  had  known  since 
the  beginning  of  my  life  suddenly  appeared  re- 
splendent in  a  new  light.  A  purple  sheen  was 
spread  over  all.  Wondrous  life  seemed  to  have 
awakened  therein.  I  had  so  completely  absorbed 
myself  in  these  phantasies,  that  finally  I  believed 
that  I  myself  had  lived  through  this  love.  When 
I  saw  Martha  again  I  did  not  dare  to  raise  my 
eyes  to  her,  as  if  I  cherished  the  secret  in  my 
bosom  and  she  were  the  one  who  must  not 
guess  it. 

"But  next  morning  when  I  reflected  that  Martha  ^ 
had  positively  experienced  everything  that  I  after 
all  had  only  dreamt  about,  I  felt  quite  awed  by  the 
thought,  and  from  out  of  a  dark  corner  I  contem- 
plated her  fixedly  with  shy,  inquiring  looks,  as  if    \ 
she  were  a  being  from  some  strange  world.  ^"^ 

"  I  was  well  aware  that  every  five  minutes  she 
found  something  to  busy  herself  about  on  the 
verandah,  from  whence  one  could  look  across 
towards   the  courtyard -gate  ;    but   to-day    I    took 


130  THE  WISH. 


good  care  not  to  put  any  pert  questions  to  her. 
Now  I  felt  like  a  confidante — like  an  accomplice. 
It  was  a  beautiful  clear  September  day.  Over 
woodland  and  meadow  was  spread  a  rosy  veil, 
silver  threads  floated  softly  through  the  air,  the 
river  carried  a  cover  of  vapour,  and  far  and  wide 
it  was  as  silent  as  in  a  church.  I  went  into  the 
wood,  for  I  could  never  have  excess  of  solitude  to 
satiate  myself  with  dreams.  In  the  birch-trees 
faded  leaves  already  rustled  ;  the  bracken  drooped 
like  a  wounded  human  being  that  can  barely  keep 
upright. 

"  I  grew  very  sad.  *  Now  there  will  be  a  great 
dying,'  I  said  :  *  ah,  that  one  might  die  too  ! ' 

"  And  then  I  remembered  what  I  had  heard  and 
read  in  derision  of  sentimental  autumn  thoughts. 
*For  shame,  how  wicked!'  I  thought.  *  They 
shall  not  deride  me,  for  I  shall  know  how  to 
conceal  myself  and  my  feelings.  It  is  no  one's 
business  what  I  do  feel. /And  for  all  I  care  they 
may  think  me  cold  and  heartless,  if  only  I  have 
the  consciousness  that  my  heart  beats  warmly  and 
full  of  love  for  mankind.' 

"Yes,  that  was  a  delightful,  foolish  day,  and  bliss- 


THE  WISH,  131 


fully  would  I  sacrifice  what  yet  remains  to  me  of 
life,  if  it  might  once  more  be  granted  to  me.  In 
the  evening — I  can  see  it  all  as  if  it  were  to-day — 
the  windows  stood  open,  the  tendrils  of  the  wild 
vine  swayed  in  the  breeze,  and  from  the  distance  a 
stamping  of  hoofs,  a  clashing  of  lances  and  swords 
greeted  my  ears.  I  could  see  nothing,  for  the 
darkness  devoured  it  all,  but  I  knew  that  it  was 
a  band  of  Cossacks  patrolling  along  the  frontier 
ditch.  And  then  I  closed  my  eyes  and  dreamt 
that  a  troop  of  knights  were  coming  riding  along 
at  full  speed — led  by  a  fair,  handsome  prince, 
mounted  on  a  milk-white  charger.  But  I  was  the 
chatelaine  sitting  in  the  turret-room  of  the  old 
castle,  and  the  fame  of  my  beauty  had  penetrated 
to  every  land,  so  that  the  prince  had  set  forth 
surrounded  by  a  company  of  picked  horsemen,  to 
seek  me  out  and  ask  my  hand  in  marriage  of  the 
old  nobleman  my  father. 

"And  then  I  remembered  Martha;  and  whether, 
as  the  elder,  she  would  not  be  preferred.  But  she 
loves  her  Robert,  I  comforted  myself,  she  wants  no 
prince.  And  then  I  pictured  to  myself  what  I 
would  give  to  each  member  of  my  family  when 


132  THE  WISH, 


I  had  mounted  the  throne :  to  Martha  wonderful 
jewellery,  to  papa  an  iron  chest  full  of  gold,  and  to 
mama  a  box  of  pine-apple  sweets. 

"The   clashing    of    lances    died    away   in    the 
distance —and  my  dream  was  at  an  end. 


"  Next  day  he  came. 

"  When  the  carriage  that  brought  him  rolled  in 
at  the  courtyard  gate,  Martha  was  busy  in  the 
kitchen.  I  ran  to  her,  and  beaming  with  pleasure 
I  whispered  into  her  ear,  *  Martha,  I  believe  he  is 
here.'  But  she  forthwith  apprised  me  that  I  was 
not  her  confidante.  She  looked  at  me  vaguely 
for  a  time,  then  asked  absently,  *  Whom  do  you 
mean  ? ' 

"  *  Whom  else  but  our  cousin  ?  ' 

"  *  Why  do  you  tell  me  that  in  a  whisper  ?  *  she 
asked.  And  when,  in  answer,  I  shrugged  my 
shoulders,  she  once  more  took  up  the  kitchen 
spoon  she  had  put  down,  and  went  on  stirring. 

"  *  Is  that  the  extent  of  your  pleasure,  Martha  ? ' 
I  asked,  while  I  contemptuously  pursed  my  lips. 

"  But  she  pushed  me  aside  with  her  left  hand 


THE  WISH.                                133  1 

\ 

and  said,  more  passionately  than  was   her  wont,  1 

*  Child,  I  beg  of  you,  go  ! '  \ 

"  And  thus  it  came  about  that  I  received  Cousin  \ 

Robert  in  her  stead.  i 

"  As  I  stepped  out  on  to  the  verandah,  he  was  \ 

just  alighting  from  his  carriage.  \ 

"  *  He  does  not  look    much   better  than  papa,'  | 

that  was  my  first  thought.     A  great  strong  man  \ 

like  a  giant,  with  broad  chest  and  shoulders,  his  j 

face   sun-burnt,   with   little   blue   eyes   in  it,  and  I 

framed  by  a  shaggy  beard,  such  a  beard  as  the  | 

*  lancequenets '  used  to  wear.  \ 

**  *  Only  the  chin-strap  is  wanting,*  I  thought  to  \ 

myselfl  I 

"  He    came    jumping    up    the    steps    laughing  | 

towards  me.                                          cX  MaA^^^^  ^ 

"  *  Well,  good  morning,  Martha  ! '  he  cried.     ^""^Wl^^  ^ 

**  And  then  suddenly  he  stopped  short,  measured 
me  from  head  to  foot  and  stood  there,  half-way  up 
the  stairs,  as  if  petrified. 

"*My  name   is   not    Martha,  but  Olga!'  I  re-  \ 
marked,  somewhat  dejectedly.                                             "^^: 

"  *  Ah,  that   accounts  for  it ! '  he  cried,  shaking  \ 

with  laughter,  stepped  up  to  me  and  offered  me  J 


134  THE  WISH. 


*/\i 


Nt 


a  red,  horny  hand,  quite  covered  with  cracks  and 
weals. 

"  *  What  an  uncouth  fellow ! '  I  thought  in  my 

town  mind.     And  when  we  had  entered  the  room 

he  looked  me  up  and  down  again  and  said,  *  You 

were  quite  a  little  thing  yet,  Olga,  when  I  went 

k  away  from  here  ;  now  it  seems  like  a  wonder  to 

^     me  that  you  should  be  so  like  Martha  !  * 

,  ,         "  *  I  like  Martha,'  thought  I,  *  when  was  I  ever  in 

\  the  least  like  Martha  } ' 

\  *'  *  But  no,'  he  continued, '  she  was  not  so  tall,  and 
.X  her  hair  was  fairer,  and  she  did  not  stand  there  so 
\.  haughtily — and — and — did  not  make  such  serious 
eyes. 

"*Ah,  good  Heavens,'  thought  I,  *you  first  look 
into  Martha's  eyes  ! ' 

"  At  this  moment  the  kitchen  door  opened  quite, 
quite  slowly,  and  through  a  narrow  aperture  she 
squeezed  herself  in.  She  had  not  taken  off  her 
white  apron.  Her  face  was  as  white  as  this  apron, 
and  her  lips  trembled. 

"  *  Welcome,  Robert ! '  she  said  softly  behind  his 
back,  for  he  had  turned  towards  me. 

"  At  the  first  sound  of  her  voice  he  veered  round 


THE  WISH.  135 


like  lightning,  and  then  for  about  a  minute  they 
stood  facing  each  other  without  moving,  without 
uttering  a  word. 

"  I  trembled.  For  two  days  I  had  lain  in  wait 
for  this  moment,  and  now  it  fell  so  wretchedly 
short  of  my  expectations.  Then  they  slowly 
approached  each  other,  and  kissed.  This  kiss 
too  did  not  satisfy  me.  He  could  not  have 
kissed  me  differently;  *  only  that  he  did  not 
attempt  that  at  all,'  I  added  mentally.  And 
then""'tEey  Eothwere  silent  again.  My  heart 
beat  so  wildly  that  I  had  to  press  both  hands 
to  my  bosom. 

"  At  last  Martha  said,  *  Won't  you  take  a  seat, 
Robert?' 

"  He  nodded  and  threw  himself  into  the  sofa- 
corner  so  that  all  its  joints  creaked.  He  looked  at 
her  again  and  again,  then  after  a  long  time  he 
remarked,  *  You  are  very  much  changed,  Martha  ! ' 

"  I  felt  as  if  he  had  given  me  a  slap  in  the  face. 

"  An  unutterably  sad  smile  played  about 
Martha's  lips. 

"  *  Yes,  I  suppose  I  am  changed,'  she  then  said. 

"  Renewed  silence.     It  seemed  as  if  a  long  time 


136  THE  WISH. 


were   necessary   for   him    to   put   a  thought   into  \ 

words.  \ 

"'Why  did  I  never  hear  that  you  were  ailing?*  | 

he  began  again  at  length.  \ 

"  *  That  I  do  not  know/  she  replied,  with  bitter  \ 

affability.  \ 

I 

"  *  Could  you  not  write  to  me  about  it  ?  '  \ 

"  '  Are  we  in  the  habit  of  writing  to  each  other  ?  '  \ 

she  asked  in  return.  I 

"  He  gave  the  table  an  angry  shove.  I 

" '  But  if  one  is  not  well — then — then — '  \  he  did  | 

not  know  how  to  proceed.  J 

"  I  pressed  my  fists  together.     I  should  so  have  | 

I 

liked  to  finish  his  sentence  for  him.  I 

"  *  Never  mind/  said  Martha,  *  one  often  knows  | 

1 

least  one's  self  when  one  is  not  well*  \ 

"  *  I  should  think  one  ought  to  know  that  best  I 

one's  self^'  he  replied.  | 

"  '  What  if  one  does  not  think  it  worth  while  to  \ 

take  any  notice  of  it  ?  '     This  time  she  spoke  with-  \ 

out  bitterness,  modestly  and  quietly  as  she  always  \ 

spoke,  and  yet  every  word  cut  me  to  the  quick.  ] 

"  (*  Oh,  Martha,  why  did  you  repulse  me  ?'  a  voice  j 
within  me  cried.)                                                   7^J-C/^^ 


THE  WISH,  137 


"And  thereupon  she  broke  into  a  short  laugh,  \ 

and  asked  how  things  were  at  home,  and  whether  \ 

uncle  and  aunt  were  well.  \ 

"  '  First  I  should  like  to  know  how  my  uncle  and  \ 

my   aunt  are,'  he   said,  and  looked  into  the  four  j 

corners  of  the  room.  \ 

"  I  was  so  glad  to  see  the  strained  mood  giving  \ 

way,  that  I  burst  into  a  loud  laugh  at  his  comical  | 

I 

search.  \ 

\ 

"  Both  looked  at  me  in  astonishment  as  if  they  I 

only  just  remembered  my  presence.  i 

"  *  And  what  do  you  say  to  our  child  ? '  asked  '\ 

Martha,  taking  my  hand  in  motherly  fashion,  *  does 

she  please  you  ? '                   f /'f^-^L^  \ 

" '  Better  now  already,'  he  said,  scrutinising  me,  | 

*  before,  she  was  too  stiff  for  me.'  / 

*"  I  could  hardly  put  my  arms  round  your  neck    .  /J 

at  once?  '  L replied.  -^ 

"  *  Why   not  ? '   he  asked,  smiling  complacently,       ^^i 

*  do  you  think  there  is  no  room  for  you  there  ? '  | 

"  *  No,'  said  I,  to  let  him  know  at  once  how  to  \ 

take  me, '  that  room  is  not  the  place  for  me.'  \ 

"  He  looked  at  me  quite  taken  aback,  and  then  \ 

remarked,  nodding  his  head —  I 


138  THE  WISH. 


"  *By  Jingo,  the  little  woman  is  pretty  sharp.' 

"  I  was  going  to  reply  something,  but  at  that 
moment  papa  entered  the  room. 

"  At  table  I  constantly  kept  my  eye  on  the  two, 
without  however  being  able  to  notice  anything 
suspicious. 

"  Their  eyes  hardly  met. 

"  *  Afterwards  when  the  old  people  are  taking 
their  nap,'  I  thought  to  myself,  *  they  are  sure  to 
try  and  make  their  escape/  But  I  was  mistaken. 
They  quietly  remained  in  the  sitting-room,  and 
did  not  even  seem  anxious  to  get  me  out  of  the 
way.  He  sat  in  the  sofa-corner  smoking,  she, 
five  paces  away  at  the  window,  with  some  needle- 
work. 

"  *  Perhaps  they  are  too  shy,'  I  thought,  '  and 
are  waiting  till  an  opportunity  presents  itself.'  I 
marked  a  few  signs  and  slipped  out.  Then  for 
half  an  hour  I  crouched  in  my  room  with  a 
beating  heart  and  counted  the  minutes  till  I  might 
go  back  again. 

" '  Now  he  will  go  up  to  her,'  I  said  to  myself, 
*  will  take  her  hands  and  look  long  into  her  eyes. 
"  Do  you   still  love  me  ? "  he  will  ask  ;  and  she, 


THE  WISH.  139 


blushing  rosy  red,  will  sink  with  tear-dimmed  gaze 
upon  his  breast.' 

"  I  closed  my  eyes  and  sighed.  My  temples 
were  throbbing ;  I  felt  more  and  more  how  my 
fancies  intoxicated  me,  and  then  I  went  on. 
picturing  to  myself  how  he  would  drop  on  his 
knees  before  her  and,  with  ardent  looks,  stammer 
forth  glowing  declarations  of  love  and  faithfulness. 

**  I  knew  by  heart  everything  that  he  was  saying 
to  her  at  this  moment,  no  less  than  what  she  was 
answering.  I  could  have  acted  as  prompter  to 
them  both.  When  the  half-hour  was  over,  I  held 
counsel  with  myself  whether  I  should  grant  them 
a  few  moments  longer.  /  I  was  at  present  their  fate 
and  as  such  I  smilingly  showered  my  favours  upon 
them. 

"  *  Let  them  drain  their  cup  of  bliss  to  the  last 
drop ! '  said  I,  and  resolved  to  take  a  walk  through 
the  garden  yet.  But  curiosity  overpowered  me  so 
that  I  turned  back  half-way. 

"  Softly  I  crept  up  to  the  door,  but  hardly  did 
I  find  courage  to  turn  the  handle.  The  thought 
of  what  I  was  about  to  see  almost  took  my  breath 
away. 


I40  THE  WISH, 


"  And  what  did  I  see  now,  after  all  ? 

"  There  he  still  sat  in  his  sofa-corner  as  before, 
and  had  smoked  his  cigar  down  to  a  tiny  stump  ; 
but  in  her  embroidery  there  was  a  flower  which 
had  not  been  there  before. 

"  '  Why  do  you  shrug  your  shoulders  so  con- 
temptuousl)^  ? '  asked  Martha,  and  Robert  added, 
*  It  seems  I  do  not  meet  with  her  ladyship's 
gracious   approval/ 

"*So,'  thought  I,  *  for  all  my  kindness  I  get 
sneers  into  the  bargain,'  and  went  out  slamming 
the  door  after  me.  That  same  night,  I,  foolish 
young  creature  that  I  was,  lay  awake  till  nearly 
morning,  and  pictured  to  myself  how  I,  Olga 
Bremer,  would  have  behaved  had  I  been  in  the 
place  of  those  two.  First  I  was  Robert,  then 
Martha  ;  I  felt,  I  spoke,  I  acted  for  them,  and 
through  the  silence  of  my  bedroom  there 
sounded  the  passionate  whisperings  of  ardent, 
world-despising  love. 

"As  things  were  much  too  straightforward  to 
please  me,  I  invented  a  number  of  additional 
obstacles — our  parents'  refusal,  nocturnal  meetings 
at  the  frontier  trench,    surprise  by  the  Cossacks, 


THE  WISH,  141 


imprisonment,  paternaL^j^ialedictions,  flight,  and 
finally  death  together  inTKe  waves  ;  for  only 
hereby,  so  it  seemed  to  me,  could  true  love  be 
worthily  sealed  and  confirmed.   ~r-- --— -~  •-^~"*^ 

"  When  I  got  up  in  the  morning  my  head 
whirled,  and  yellow  and  green  lights  danced  before 
my  eyes. 

"  Martha  clasped  her  hands  in  horror  at  my 
appearance,  and  Robert,  who  was  sitting  again  for 
a  change  in  a  sofa-corner,  and  once  again  sending 
forth  clouds  of  smoke  all  around,  remarked — 

"  *  Have  you  been  crying  or  dancing  all  night  ? ' 

"  *  Dancing,'  I  replied,  *  on  the  Brocken,  with 
other  witches.' 

" '  One  positively  cannot  get  a  sensible  word 
out  of  the  girl,'  he  said,  shaking  his  head. 

"*  As  you  cry  into  the  wood,'  replied  I. 

"  *  Oh !  I  am  as  still  as  a  mouse  already,'  he 
remarked,  laughing,  *  else  I  shall  get  such  a  dish 
of  aspersion  to  begin  the  day  with,  as  I  have  never 
swallowed  in  all  my  life.' 

"  Martha  looked  at  me  reproachfully,  and  I  ran 
out  into  the  park  where  it  was  darkest  and  hid  my 
burning  face  in  the  cool  mass  of  leaves. 


142  THE  WISH. 


"  I  was  near  crying. 

"*  So  Jthjs„i3.iny..^fe^  I  moaned,  *to  be  mis- 
understood by  the  whole  world,  to  stand  there 
alone  and  despised  though  my  heart  is  full  of 
passionate  love,  to  wither  unheeded  in  some 
corner,  while  every  other  being  finds  its  companion 
and  stills  its  longings  in  an  ardent  embrace.' 

"  Yes,  I  had  so  vividly  pictured  to  myself 
Martha's  love  that  I  had  finally  come  to  think 
myself  the  heroine  of  it. 

*'  Thus,  of  course,  disenchantment  could  not  fail 
to  come. 

"  And  if  only  the  two  had  made  some  further 
efTort  to  keep  pace  with  the  flights  of  my  imagina- 
tion !  But  the  longer  Robert  remained  in  our 
house,  the  more  I  watched  Martha's  intercourse 
with  him,  the  more  did  I  become  convinced  that 
all  interest  was  unnecessarily  wasted  upon  them. 

"  She — the  type  of  a  timid,  insipid,  housewife, 
sj^tj-ect  to  any  fatality  ofevery-d^  life.    "^ 

"  He — a  clumsy,  dull,  work-a-day  fellow,  in- 
capable of  any  degree  of  emotion. 

"In  this  strain  I  philosophised  as  long  as  the 
bitter  feeling  that  I  was  unnoticed  and  superfluous 


THE  WISH,  143 


wholly  filled  my  soul.  Then  there  came  an  event 
which  not  only  disposed  me  to  be  more  lenient, 
but  also  gave  a  new  direction  to  my  ideas  about 
this  stranger  cousin. 


"  It  was  on  the  fourth  day  of  his  visit  when  he 
unexpectedly  stepped  up  to  me  and  said  : 

"  *  Little  one,  I  have  a  request  to  make  to  you. 
Will  you  come  out  for  a  ride  with  me  ?  * 

"  *  What  an  honour,'  replied  I. 

"  *  No,  you  must  not  begin  again  like  that,*  said 
^he,  laughing,  though  annoyed.  *We  will  try  for 
once  to  be  good  comrades  just  for  half  an  hour. 
Agreed  ?  * 

"  His  cordiality  pleased  me.  I  gave  him  my 
hand  upon  it. 

"  As  we  rode  out  of  the  courtyard  gate  Martha 
stood  at  the  kitchen  window  and  waved  to  us  with 
her  white  apron. 

"*See  here,  Martha,*  I  thought  in  my  mind, 
*  this  is  how  I  would  ride  out  into  the  wide  world 
with  him  if  I  were  his  paramour.' 

"  For   my   ideas   as    to   what   a   '  paramour '   is 


144  THE  WISH. 


were  as  yet  very  vague,  and  I  did  not  hesitate  to  \ 

ascribe  this  dignity  to  Martha.  1 

"*He   rides   well/    I    went   on    thinking;    *  my  \ 

i 

prince  could  not  do  better.'  j 

"  And  then  I  caught  myself  throwing  myself  back  j 

proudly  and  joyously  in  my  saddle,  swayed  by  an  ] 

undefined  sense  of  well-being  that  made  all   my  i 

nerves  tingle.  i 

"  He  said  nothing,  only  now  and  again  turned  1 

towards  me  and  nodded  at  me  smilingly,  as  if  he 

thought  well   to  secure  our  compact  anew  every  | 

five  minutes.     It  was  needless  trouble,  for  nothing  \ 

was  further  from  my  thoughts  than  to  break  it.  j 

"  When  we  had  ridden  for  half  an  hour  at  a  sharp  \ 

trot  he  pulled  up  his  chestnut  and  said  : 

"* Well,  little  one?'  ,     ^ 

"  *  \^hat  is  your  pleasure,  big  one  ? '   Uji/J^^    Hj^ 

"*Shall  we  turn  back?'                                            ^  ^ 

"  *  Oh,  no.'  1 

"  I   was   absolutely   not    willed   to   give   up   so  ; 

quickly  what   filled   me  with   such   intense   satis-  ^ 

faction.  j 

"*WelI,   then,    to   the    Illowo  woods,'   said   he,  j 

i 

pointing   to   the  bluish  wall  which    bordered    the  j 

distant  horizon.  1 


THE  WISH,  145 


"  I  nodded  and  gave  my  horse  the  whip,  so  that  it 
reared  up  high  and  plunged  along  in  wild  bounds. 

"  *  Very  creditable  for  a  young  lady  of  fifteen/  I 
heard  his  voice  behind  me. 

"  *  Sixteen,  if  you  please  ! '  cried  I,  half  turning 
round  towards  him.  *  By  the  bye,  if  you  again 
reproach  me  with  my  youth,  there's  an  end  to  our 
good  fellowship.' 

"  *  Heaven  forbid  !  *  he  laughed,  and  then  we  rode 
on  in  silence. 

"The  wood  of  lUowo  is  intersected  by  a  small 
rivulet,  whose  steep  banks  are  so  close  together 
that  the  alder  branches  from  either  side  intertwine 
and  form  a  high-vaulted,  green  dome  over  the 
surface  of  the  water,  terminating  at  each  bend  in 
a  dense  wall  of  foliage,  behind  which  it  builds 
itself  up  anew.  Down  there,  close  to  the  water's 
edge,  I  had  known,  since  my  childhood,  many  a 
secluded  nook,  where  I  had  often  sat  for  hours, 
reading  or  dreaming  to  myself,  while  my  horse 
peacefully  grazed  up  in  the  wood. 

"As  we  now  rode  slowly  along  between  the 
trees,  a  desire  seized  me  to  show  him  one  of 
my  sanctuaries. 


146  THE  WISH. 


"  *  I  want  to  dismount,'  I  called  out  to  him  ; 
'  help  me  out  of  my  saddle.* 

"  He  jumped  off  his  horse  and  did  as  I  had  bid. 

"  *  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ? '  he  then  asked. 

"  *  You  will  see  shortly/  said  I.  *  First  of  all,  let 
the  horses  go.' 

"  *  I  should  think  so,  indeed,'  he  laughed.  *  You 
seem  to  be  one  of  those  who  catch  their  hares  by 
putting  salt  on  their  tails.* 

"And  he  set  about  tying  the  bridles  to  a  tree. 

"  *  Let  loose,'  I  commanded  ;  and  as  he  did  not 
obey,  I  gave  the  horses  a  lash  of  the  whip,  so  that 
before  he  thought  of  catching  hold  of  the  reins 
tighter,  they  were  already  galloping  about  at 
liberty  in  the  wood. 

"  *  What  now  } '  said  he,  and  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  *  Do  you  think  they  will  let  themselves 
be  caught  ? ' 

"  *  Not  by  you  ! '  laughed  I,  for  I  was  sure  of  my 
favourites. 

"And  when  at  a  low  whistle  from  my  lips  they 
both  came  racing  along  from  the  distance  and 
snuffled  about  affectionately  at  my  neck  with 
their   nostrils,  my  heart  swelled  with  pride   that 


THE  WISH.  147 


there  were  creatures  on  earth,  though  only  dumb 
animals,  who  bowed  to  my  might  and  jwere  sub- 
ject to  me  through  love ;  and  triumphantly  I 
looKdTJp  at  him  as  if  now  he  must  know  me  as  I 
really  was,  and  what  I  required  of  the  world. 

"  But  I  could  see  that  even  now  I  had  not 
impressed  him.  *  Well  done,  little  one  !  '  he 
said,  nothing  more,  patted  me  on  the  shoulder 
in  fatherly  meaner,  and  then  threw  himself  down 
carelessly  upon  the  grass.  The  sun's  rays,  which 
broke  through  the  foliage,  glittered  in  his  beard. 
l£ke_a_hero  in  repose  he  appeared  to  me,  like 
those  described  in  northern  saga. -JL^^^,>fi^NX^  ' 
*^1But  just  as  I  was  about  to  grow  absorbed  iti 
my  romancing,  he  began  to  yawn  most  fearfully,  so 
that  I  was  very  quickly  and  rudely  transferred  to 
prose. 

" '  But  we  are  not  going  to  stay  here.  Sir  Cousin.' 

"  *  Don't  be  foolish,  little  one,'  said  he,  closing  his 
eyes  ;  *  do  like  me,  let  us  sleep.' 

"  Then  a  frolicsome  mood  possessed  me,  and  I 
stepped  up  to  him  and  shook  him  soundly  by 
the  collar. 

"  He  snatched  at  my  dress,  but  I  evaded  him,  so 


148  THE  WISH, 


that  he  jumped  to  his  feet  and  attempted  to  lay  hold 
of  me.  Then  I  walked  quietly  to  meet  him  and 
said,  *  That's  right,  now  come  along.'  And  then 
I  led  him  right  through  a  dense  thicket  of  thorns, 
down  the  steep  slope,  at  the  foot  of  which  the  deep 
water  lay  like  a  dark  mirror.  Down  there  broad- 
leaved  convolvuli  and  creepers  had  formed  a 
natural  bower  above  a  projecting  block  of  stone, 
in  which  even  at  high  noon  one  could  sit  almost 
in  the  dark. 

"  Thither  I  led  him. 

"  '  Upon  my  word,  it  is  delightful  here,  little  one,' 
he  said,  and  comfortably  stretched  himself  upon 
the  stone,  so  that  his  feet  hung  down  to  the  water. 
'  Come,  sit  down  at  my  side ;  .  .  .  there  is  room 
for  us  both.' 

"  I  did  as  he  wished,  but  seated  myself  so  that  I 
could  look  down  upon  him. 

"  He  pretended  to  be  sleeping,  and  now  and 
again  blinked  up  at  me  through  half-closed  lids. 

"  Then  the  thought  suddenly  came  to  me,  *  Now, 
if  you  were  Martha,  what  should  you  do  ? '  and  I 
was  so  startled  by  it  that  my  blood  gushed  up 
hotly  into  my  face. 


V-^^OAyi^ 


THE  WISH,  149 


"  *  Are  you  easily  frightened,  little  one  ? '  he 
asked. 

"  I  shook  my  head. 

*'  *  Then  come  here  1 ' 

"  *  I  am  here  at  your  side.* 

"  *  Place  yourself  in  front  of  me.' 

"  I  did  so.  My  feet  almost  touched  the  flat  edge 
of  the  stone. 

"  Suddenly  he  raised  himself,  clasped  me  as 
quick  as  lightning  about  the  waist,  and  at  the  same 
moment  I  felt  myself  suspended  in  mid-air  above 
the  water.     I  looked  at  him  and  laughed. 

"  *  Let  me  tell  you/  said  he,  *  that  it  is  not  by 
any  means  a  laughing  matter.  If  I  let  you 
drop ' 

"  *  I  shall  be  drowned — so  let  me  drop.' 

"  *  No,  first  you  must  make  a  confession  to  me.' 

"  *  What  confession  ? ' 

"  *  Why  you^do,^QL.likg  moL.^  • 

"  I  drewa  deep  breath.  At  the  same  time  I  felt 
that  the  soles  of  my  feet  were  already  being  wetted 
by  the  surface  of  the  water.  He  must  not  let  me 
sink  any  lower.  A  delicious  feeling  of  po^erless- 
ness  came  over  me. 


ISO  THE  WISH, 


"  *  I  do  like  you/  I  said.  j 

"  *  Then  why  do  you  give  me  such  disagreeable  I 

answers  ?  I 

"  ■  Because  I  am  a  disagreeable  creature.'  \ 

" '  That  is  certainly  plausible/  laughed  he,  and  \ 

with  rapid  swing  lifted  me  up  like  a  feather  so  that  j 

I    came   to   stand    once    more    upon    the    stone. 

*  There,  now  sit  down,  we  will  talk  sensibly.'     Then  \ 

he   took  my  hand  and  continued  :   *  See,  I  am  a  ] 

simple  fellow,  have  worked  hard  and  given  little  1 

thought  to  sharpening  my  wit.      You  with  your  \ 

quick  little  brain  always  kill  me  at  the  very  first  \ 

thrust,  so  that  I  have  grown  positively  afraid  of  \ 

talking  to  you.     I  know  you  mean  no  harm,  for  it  \ 

is  not  in  our  blood  to  be  ill-natured  ;  but  all  the 

same,  it  is  not  the  proper  thing.      I  am  nearly  \ 

twelve  years  older  than  you,  and  you  almost  a  child  j 

yet.     Am  I  right  ? '  \ 

"  *  You  are  right/  said  I,  dejectedly,  wondering  ' 

privately  where  my  defiance  had  departed  to.  ^     \ 

" '  Then  why  did  you  do  it  ? '  .txm^i 

'*  *  Because  I  wanted  to  gain  your  approval/  said  ^ 

I,  and  drew  a  deep  breath. 

"  He  looked  into  my  eyes  amazed. 


</i 


THE  WISH.  151 


"  *  Because  I  wanted  to  show  you  that  I  was  not 
a  silly  thing,  that  my  head  was  in  its  right  place, 

that  I /  I  stopped  short  and  grew  ashamed  of 

myself. 

"  He  chewed  his  beard  and  looked  meditatively 
before  him. 

"  *  Indeed,  now,'  he  said,  *  I  was  in  a  fair  way  to 
get  quite  a  wrong  idea  of  your  character.  What  a 
good  thing  that  I  followed  Martha's  advice  ! ' 

"*  Martha's?'  I  exclaimed.  *What  did  she 
advise  you  ? ' 

"*Take  her  aside  alone  some  time,'    she  said, 
*and  have  it  out  with  her.     Whomever  she  does 
not  love  she  hates,  and  it  would  pain  me  if  she  did     . 
not  grow  to  love  you.'         J  {/^  y\Aj  ^  AA'^*^^ 

"*Did  she  say  thatTVasked  I,  and  tears  came 
into  my  eyes.  *  Oh,  yoffgood  sister,  you  noble  soul !  * 

"  *  Yes,  she  said  that  and  much  more  besides,  in 
order  to  explain  and  vindicate  your  disposition. 
And  as  I  love  Martha ' 

" '  Do  you  ? '  I  interrupted  him,  eager  to  learn 
more. 

"  *  Yes,  very  dearly,'  he  replied  reflectively,  and 
looked  down  into  the  water  beneath  him. 


152  THE  WISH. 


"  My  heart  beat  so  violently  that  I  could  hardly 

draw  my  breath.     So  he,  he  took  me  into  his  con- 

Vfidence,  he  made  a  confederate  of  me.     I   could 

^  hay«  embraced  him  there  and  then,  so  grateful  did 

I  feel  towards  him. 

"  *  And  does  she  know  it  .^ '  I  inquired. 

"  *  I  daresay  she  knows  it,'  he  remarked  ;  *  a 
thing  of  that  sort  cannot  be  concealed ' 

"  What — then — you  have  not — told  her  t  *  I 
stammered. 

"  He  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"  I  was  awakened  from  all  my  illusions.  So  the 
arbours  of  our  garden  had  never  afforded  shelter  to 
two  lovers,  the  moon  as  it  shone  through  the 
branches  had  never  been  the  witness  of  clandestine 
kisses  ?  And  all  my  romancing  had  proved  itself 
nothing  but  idle  imagination  ?  But  in  the  midst  of 
my  disillusion  a  deepcompassion  seized  me  for 
this  giant,  crouching  beside  me  as  helpless  as  a 
child.  Surely,  I  vowed  to  myself,  he  shall  not  in 
vain  have  put  his  trust  in  me  ! 

"  *  Why  did  you  remain  silent  ? '  I  inquired 
further. 

"  He  looked  somewhat  suspiciously  at  my  im- 


THE  WISH,  153 


mature  youth,  and  then  began,  heaving  a  deep 
breath  : — 

"*You  see,  at  that  time  I  was  a  silly  young 
fellow,  and  could  not  pluck  up  courage  to  speak  ; 
in  the  years  of  one's  youth  one  is  already  so 
supremely  happy  if  one  can  only  now  and  again 
secure  a  secret  pressure  of  the  hand,  that  one 
thinks  marriage  can  have  no  further  bliss  to  offer. 

But ^you   really   cannot   understand   all    these 

things/ 

*'*Who  knows?*  replied  I,  in  my  innocence;  *  I 
have  read  a  great  deal  on  the  subject  already/ 

**  *  The  short  and  the  long  of  it  is/  he  continued, 
*that  I  was  then  nearly  as  foolish  as  you  are  at 
present.  And  now,  you  see,  if  I  speak  to  her  now, 
every  word  binds  me  with  iron  fetters  to  all  eternity.' 

"*  And  don't  you  wish  to  bind  yourself?'  I  asked 
in  astonishment 

"  *  I  may  not,'  he  cried  ;  '  I  dare  not,  for  I  do  not 
know  if  I  can  make  her  happy.' 

"  *  Well,  of  course,  if  you  do  not  know  that,'  said 
I,  drawing  up  my  lips  contemptuously,  and  in  my 
heart  I  inferred  further:  *Then  he  c?innot  love  her 


154  THE  WISH. 


"  But  he  started  up  with  sparkling  eyes  :  *  Under- 
stand me  aright,  little  one/  he  cried  ;  *  if  it  only 
depended  on  me,  I  would  ask  nothing  better  all  my 
life,  than  to  carry  her  in  my  arms,  lest  her  foot 
might  dash  against  a  stone.  But — oh,  this  misery 
— this  misery  ! '  And  he  tore  his  hair,  so  that  I 
grew  quite  frightened  of  him.  Never  should  I 
have  thought  it  possible  for  this  quiet,  reflective 
man  to  behave  so  passionately.     77  - 

"  *  Confide  in  me,  Robert,'  said  I,  placing  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder  ;  *  I  am  only  a  foolish  girl, 
but  it  will  unburden  your  heart' 

" '  I  cannot,'  he  groaned,  '  I  cannot ! ' 

"* Why  not.?' 

" '  Because  it  would  be  humiliating — for  you  too. 
Only  this  much  I  will  tell  you :  Martha  is  a 
delicate,  tender,  sensitive  creature ;  she  would 
never  be  able  to  hold  her  own  against  the  flood  of 
cares  and  misfortune  which  must  pour  down  upon 
her  there.  She  would  be  broken  like  a  weak  blade 
of  corn  at  the  first  onset  of  the  storm.  And  what 
good  would  it  be,  if  a  few  years  after  our  wedding 
I  had  to  carry  her  to  her  grave  1 ' 

"  A  cold  shudder  runs  through  me,  when  I  think 


THE  WISH.      "  155 


how  that  word  of  presage  came  to  be  so  terribly- 
realised  ;  but  at  that  moment  there  was  nothing  to 
warn  me.  I  only  felt  the  ardent  desire  to  give  as 
romantic  a  turn  as  possible  to  this,  to  my  mind, 
much  too  prosaic  love  affair.  Unfortunately  there 
was  not  much  to  be  done  at  present.  So  at  least  I 
assumed  a  knowing  air,  and  sought  in  my  memory 
for  some  of  the  phrases  with  which  worthy  sibyls 
and  father  confessors  are  wont  to  feed  the  soul  of 
unhappy  lovers. 

"And  he,  this  big^child,  drank  in  the  foolish 
words  of  comfort  like  one  dying  of  thirst. 

" '  But  wiir  she  have  patience  ? '  he  asked,  and 
showed  signs  of  becoming  disheartened  again. 

"  '  She  will  !  Depend  upon  it,'  I  cried,  eagerly  ; 
*  as  she  has  waited  so  long,  she  will  wait  for  another 
year  or  two.  You  will  see  how  gladly  she  will 
submit' 

"  *  And  what  if  even  later  nothing  should  come  of 
it?'  he  objected,  *  if  I  should  have  disappointed 
her  hopes,  have  played  the  fool  with  her  heart  ? 
No,  I  will  not  speak  ;  they  may  drag  my  tongue 
out  of  my  mouth,  but  I  will  not  speak  ! ' 

" '  If  you  did  not  intend  to  speak,  why  then  did 


156  THE  WISH. 


you  come?'  asked  I.  Heaven  knows  how  this 
two-edged  idea  got  into  my  foolish  young  girl's 
head.  I  felt  darkly  that  I  was  committing  a 
cruelty  when  I  put  it  into  words,  but  now  it  was 
too  late.  I  saw  how  his  face  grew  pale,  I  felt  how 
his  breath  swelled  up  hot  and  heavy  and  poured 
itself  forth  upon  me  in  a  sigh. 

"  *  I  am  an  honest  man,  Olga,'  he  muttered 
between  his  teeth ;  *  you  must  not  torture  me. 
But  as  you  have  asked,  you  shall  have  an  answer. 
I  came  because  I  could  bear  life  without  her  no 
longer,  because  by  a  sight  of  her  I  wanted  to 
gather  up  strength  and  comfort  for  sad  days  to 
come,  and  because — because  in  my  heart  of  hearts 
I  still  cherished  the  faint  hope  that  things  might 
be  different  here,  that  it  might  be  possible  for  her 
to  come  with  me.' 

"  *  And  is  it  not  possible  ? ' 

"  *  No  !  Do  not  ask  why  ;  let  it  suffice  you  that 
I  say  no.' 

"  Then  suddenly  he  bent  down  towards  me,  took 
hold  of  both  my  hands,  and  said,  from  the  very 
depths  of  his  soul :  *  See,  Olga,  more  has  come  of 
our  good  fellowship  than  we  both  could  suspect  an 


THE  WISH.  157 


hour  ago.     Will  you  now  stand  by  me  faithfully, 

and  help  me  as  much  as  lies  in  your  power  ? '  ^ 

"  *  I  will/  said  I,  and  felt  very  solemn  the  while.     ,  ] 

"  *  I  know  you  are  no  longer  a  child,'  he  went  on ;  .     \ 

*you  are  a  sensible  and  brave  girl  and  do  not  Qhs^^^^  \ 
swerve  from  anything  you  undertake.  Will  you  /y4/)J/i 
kee^-W€tteh-over  her,  so   that  she  does  not  lose    ^  ^ 

heart,  even  if  I  now  go  away  again  in  silence.  •  ^^^-^^hrC^i 
Will  you?'  ""  ^^^^   W]^A/X! 

"  *  I  will ! '  I  repeated.  4aA/>  *   OuB^  ff  I    • 

"*  And  will  you  sometimes  write  to  me,  to  tell  cijl^   | 
me  how  she  is  ?     Whether  she  is  well,  and  of  good 
courage  ?     Will  you  ?  ' 

" '  I  will ! '  I  said,  for  the  third  time. 

"  *  Then  come,  give  me  a  kiss,  and  let  us  be  good 
friends,  now  and  always/  And  he  kissed  me  on 
my  mouth.  ... 

"  Five  minutes  later  we  were  on  our  horses  and 
riding  hurriedly  towards  the  home  farm  ;  for  it 
already  was  beginning  to  grow  dark. 

"'You  stayed  away  a  long  time,'  said  Martha, 

who   was   standing    in   her   white   apron    on    the 

verandah,  and  smiled  at  us  from  afar.     When  I 

saw  her,  I  felt  as  if  I  could  never  find   enough 
II 


158  THE  WISH. 


tenderness  to  pour  out  upon  my  sister.  I  hastened 
towards  her  and  kissed  her  passionately,  but  at 
the  same  moment  I  regretted  it,  for  it  appeared 
to  me  as  if  I  were  thereby  wiping  his  kiss  from 
my  lips. 

"  Embarrassed,  I  desisted,  and  slunk  away.  At 
supper  I  constantly  hung  upon  his  eyes,  for  I 
thought  he  must  make  known  our  secret  under- 
standing by  some  sign.  But  he  did  not  think  of 
any  such  thing.  Only  when  we  shook  hands  after 
the  meal  he  pressed  mine  in  quite  a  peculiar  way, 
as  he  had  never  done  before.  I  was  as  pleased 
as  if  I  had  received  some  valuable  present. 

"  On  that  evening  I  could  hardly  await  the  time 
when  I  might  go  to  bed  and  put  out  the  light ; 
then  I  was  often  wont  to  stare  for  an  hour  at 
a  time  into  the  darkness,  dreaming  to  myself. 
It  was  in  my  power  to  keep  awake  as  long  as  I 
wished,  and  to  go  to  sleep  as  soon  as  I  thought  it 
time.  I  had  only  to  bury  my  head  in  the  pillows 
and  I  was  off.  To-day  I  stretched  myself  in  my 
bed  with  a  sense  of  well-being  such  as  I  had 
never  before  in  my  life  experienced.  I  felt  as  if 
every  wish   of   my    life  had   been    fulfilled.     My 


f4AA     h/-'-;  'f^PPk%;. 


THE  WISH,  159 


cheeks  burnt,  and  on  my  lips  there  still  distinctly 
remained  the  slight  tingling  sensation  of  that 
kiss — the  first  kiss  with  which  a  man,— papa  of 
course  did  not  count — had  kissed  me. 

"And  if,  strictly  speaking,  it  had  been  meant 
for  some  one  else,  what  did  that  matter  to  me  ?  I 
was  still  so  young  I  could  not  yet  lay  claim  to 
anything  of  the  kind  for  my  own  self 

"  Thereupon  I  once  more  fell  into  my  favourite 
reverie  as  to  what  I  should  do  if  I  were  in 
Martha's  place.  Thus  I  had  no  need  to  destroy 
the  fancies  which  to-day  had  been  proved  only 
idle  chimera,  but  could  go  on  spinning  them  out 
to  my  heart's  content,  and  I  did  spin  them  out, 
waking  and  sleeping,  till  early  morning. 

"  Two  days  later  he  drove  off.  A  few  hours 
before  he  took  his  leave,  he  had  a  long  con- 
ference with  Martha  in  the  garden.  \Vithout^ny 
feeling  of  jealousy  I  saw  them  disappear  together, 
,  and  it  afforded  me  unspeakable  pleasure  to  keep 
watch  at  the  gate  so  that  no  one  should  surprise 
them. 

"  When  they  appeared  again  they  were  both 
silent,  and  looked  sad  and  serious. 


i6o  THE  WISH. 


"No,  he  had  not  declared  himself;  that  I  saw 
at  the  first  glance,  but  he  had  spoken  of  the 
future,  and  probably  interspersed  many  a  little 
word  of  modest  hope. 

"  Before  he  stepped  into  the  carriage,  it  so 
happened  that  he  was  for  a  few  moments  alone 
with  me.     Then  he  took  my  hand  and  whispered  : 

"  *  You  will  not  betray  one  single  word,  will  you  ? 
I  can  depend  upon  it  ? ' 

"  I  nodded  eagerly. 

"  *  And  you  will  write  to  me  soon  ?  * 

" '  Certainly.' 

"  *  Where  shall  I  send  the  answer?  * 

"  I  started.  I  had  not  in  the  remotest  degree 
thought  of  that.  But  as  the  moment  pressed,  I 
mentioned  at  haphazard  the  name  of  an  old 
inspector  who  had  always  been  specially  attached 
to  me. 


"  Time  passed.  One  day  followed  another  in 
the  old  way,  and  yet  now  how  differently,  how 
peculiarly  the  world  had  shaped  itself  for  me. 

"  I  no  longer  had  any  need  to  study  love  from 


THE  WISH,  i6i 


books,  and  search  for  it  afar  off ;  it  had  stepped 
bodily  into  my  existence,  its  sweet  mysteries 
played  around  me,  and  I-rr-oh,  joy  !---I  was  join- 
ing in  the  game.  I  was  entangled  head  over  ears 
in  the  intrigue  that  was  to  lay  the  basis  of  my 
sister's  happiness. 

"  It  was  like  a  miracle  to  see  how  after  each  of 
Robert's  visits  she  revived  and  gained  fresh  strength 
and  colour  and  health.  Like  an  invigorating  bath 
those  few  days  of  their  intercourse  had  acted  upon 
her,  and  more  even  than  they,  probably,  that 
miraculous  fountain  of  hope  from  which  she  had 
drunk  a  long  and  furtive  draught. 

"Certainly  the  sunny  cheerfulness  of  other  days 
did  not  return  to  her  again,  that  seemed  irretriev- 
ably lost  in  those  seven  years  of  weary  waiting  ; 
no  song,  no  laughter  ever  issued  from  her  lips,  but 
over  her  features  there  lay  spread  a  soft  warm  glow, 
as  if  a  light  from  within  her  soul  irradiated  them. 
Nor  did  she  any  longer  drag  herself  about  the  house 
with  lagging,  weary  steps,  and  whoever  approached 
her  was  sure  of  a  friendly  smile. 

"  And  as  her  happiness  must  needs  find  vent  in 
love,  she  also  attached  herself  more  closely  to  me, 


i62  THE  WISH. 


and  tried  to  gain  an  insight  into  my  hidden  and 
lonely  thoughts.  I  loved  her  the  more  dearly  for 
it»  I  all  the  more  often  invoked  God's  blessing  upon 
her,  but  I  did  not  give  her  my  confidence. 

"  Before  she,  of  her  own  accord,  opened  out  her 
whole  heart  to  me,  I  could  not  and  would  not 
confess  how  far  I  had  already  gazed  into  its  depths. 

"  Sometimes  I  caught  myself  looking  across  at 
her  with  a  motherly  feeling — if  I  may  call  it  so — 
for  since  I  carried  on  an  active  correspondence 
with  Robert,  I  imagined  that  it  was  I  who  held 
her  happiness  in  my  hands. 

"  My  vanity  made  of  me  a  good  genius,  clad  in 
white  raiment,  whose  hand  bore  a  palm-branch, 
and  whose  smile  dispensed  blessings.  And  mean- 
while I  counted  the  days  till  a  letter  from  Robert 
came,  and  ran  about  with  glowing  cheeks  when  at 
length  I  carried  it  near  my  heart. 

"  These  letters  hr  d  become  such  a  necessity  to 
me  that  I  could  hardy  imagine  how  I  should  ever 
be  able  to  exist  without  them.  Under  pretext  of 
telling  him  all  about  Martha,  I  most  cunningly 
understood  how  to  prattle  away  the  cares  that 
filled  his  heart — childishly  and  foolishly  (as  men 


THE  WISH.  163 


like  to  hear  it  from  us,  so  that  they  may  feel  them- 
selves our  superiors),  and  again  at  other  times 
seriously  and  knowingly  beyond  my  years — ^just  as 
I  felt  in  the  mood.  He  willingly  submitted  to  my 
chatter  in  all  its  different  keys,  as  one  submits  to 
the  piping  of  a  singing-bird,  and  more  I  did  not  | 
ask.  FoLiwas  already  so  grateful  that  he  allowed 
me — a  silly  young  girl  who  had  still  to  leave  the 
room  when  grown-up  people  had  serious  questions 
to  discuss — to  participate  in  his  great,  grave  love. 
All  my  dignity  and  self-consciousness  were  based 
upon  this  role  of  guardian.  And  thus  I  grew  up 
with  and  by  this  love,  of  which  never  a  crumb 
might  fall  for  me  beneath  the  table. 


**  When  the  following  autumn  approached,  I 
noticed  that  Martha  manifested  a  peculiar  rest- 
lessness. She  ran  about  her  room  with  excited 
steps,  remained  for  half  the  nights  at  the  open 
window,  gesticulated  and  spoke  loudly  when  she 
thought  herself  alone,  and  was  violently  startled 
whenever  she  found  herself  caught  in  the  act. 

"  I  faithfully  informed   Robert  of  what  I   saw, 


i64  THE  WISH. 


and  added  the  question  whether  he  had  perhaps 
held  out  any  hope  of  his  coming  at  this  particular 
time;  for  Martha's  whole  condition  seemed  to 
me  to  be  produced  through  painfully  overwrought 
expectation. 

"  I  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the 
shrewdness  of  my  seventeeen  years,  for  my 
observations  proved  correct. 

"  Deeply  contrite,  he  wrote  to  me  that  he  had 
indeed  at  parting  expressed  a  hope  of  being  able  to 
return  with  a  cheerful  face  in  the  following  autumn, 
but  that  he  had  deceived  himself,  that  he  was  more 
encumbered  by  cares  and  debts  than  ever  before, 
that  he  was  working  like  a  common  labourer,  and 
did  not  see  a  ray  of  hope  anywhere. 

"  *  Then  at  least  release  her  from  the  torture  of 
waiting,'  I  wrote  back  to  him,  *  and  cautiously 
inform  our  parents  how  you  are  placed.' 

"  He  did  so  ;  two  days  later  already,  papa,  in  a 
bad  humour,  brought  the  letter  along,  which  I — on 
account  of  my  childish  want  of  judgment — was  not 
allowed  to  read. 

"  On  Martha  it  operated  in  a  way  which  terrified 
and  deeply  moved  me.     The  excitement  of  the 


THE  WISH,  i6s 


last  weeks  there  and  then  disappeared.  In  its 
place  there  showed  itself  again  that  despairing  list- 
lessness  which  once  before,  in  the  days  preceding 
Robert's  coming,  had  worn  her  to  a  shadow  ;  once 
more  she  fell  away  ;  once  more  deep  blue  rings 
appeared  round  her  eyes  ;  once  more  an  odour  of 
valerian  proceeded  from  her  mouth  while  she  often 
writhed  in  pain.  Added  to  this  was  the  constant 
desire  to  weep,  which  at  the  smallest  provocation, 
found  vent  in  a  torrent  of  tears. 

"  This  time  papa  did  not  send  for  a  doctor.  He 
could  make  the  diagnosis  himself.  Even  mama 
suffered  with  the  poor  girl,  as  far  as  her  phlegmatic 
nature  permitted,  and  it  did  not  permit  her  to  stir 
from  her  chimney-corner  to  tender  help  to  her 
sickening  daughter.  As  for  me,  I  now  for  the  first 
time  found  an  opportunity  of  proving  to  my  family 
that  I  was  no  longer  a  child,  and  that  even  in 
serious  matters,  my  will  claimed  consideration.  I 
took  the  burden  of  housekeeping  upon  my  shoul- 
ders, and  though  they  all  smiled  and  remonstrated, 
and  though  Martha  declared  time  after  time  that 
she  would  never  suffer  me,  the  younger  one,  to 
usurp  her  place,  I  had  still  in  a  fortnight,  so  far 


i66  THE  WISH, 


gained  my  point  that  the  entire  household  danced 
to  my  pipe. 

"That  was  the  only  time  when  Martha  and  I 
ever  came  to  hard  words  ;  but  gradually  she  neces- 
sarily perceived  that  what  I  did  was  only  done  for 
her  sake,  and  finally  she  was  the  first  to  feel  grateful 
to  me.  In  several  other  things  too,  she  learnt  to 
submit  to  me  ;  but  she  sought  to  deceive  herself  as 
to  my  influence  by  remarking  that  one  must  give 
way  to  children. 

"  Through  my  intercourse  with  Robert,  I  now 
learnt  for  the  first  that  one  may  tell  lies  for  love's 
sake.  I  concealed  from  him  the  sad  effects  of  his 
letter,  yes,  I  even  unblushingly  wrote  to  him  that 
everything  was  as  well  as  could  be.  I  acted  thus, 
because  I  reflected  that  the  truth  would  plunge  him 
into  a  thousand  new  cares  and  anxieties,  which 
must  absolutely  crush  him,  as  he  was  powerless  to 
help.  But  it  was  very  hard  for  rne  to  keep  up  my 
light  chatty  tone,  and  often  some  joke  seemed  to 
freeze  in  my  pen. 

"  And  things  grew  more  and  more  troubled. 
Papa  was  despondent  because  failure  of  crops  had 
destroyed   his    best    prospects,   mama    grumbled 


THE  WISH,  167 


because  no  one  came  to  amuse  her,  and  Martha 
faded  away  more  and  more. 

"  Christmas  drew  near — such  a  gloomy  one  as 
our  llappy  home  had  never  before  witnessed. 

*'  Round  the  burning  Christmas  tree  which  I  had 
this  time  trimmed  and  Hghted  in  Martha's  stead, 
we  stood  and  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  each 
other  for  very  heaviness  of  heart.  And  because  no 
one  else  did  so,  I  had  to  assume  a  forced  smile  and 
attempt  to  scare  the  wrinkles  from  their  brows. 
But  I  got  very  little  response  indeed,  and  finally 
we  shook  hands  and  said  *  good-night,'  so  that 
each  might  retire  to  his  room,  for  we  felt  that 
anyhow  we  could  not  get  on  together. 

"When  I  came  to  Martha,  who  sat  silently  in  a 
corner,  gazing  vacantly  at  the  dying  candles,  a 
painful  feeling  darted  through  my  breast,  as  if  I 
were  committing  some  wrong  towards  her,  which  I 
ought  to  redress.  But  I  did  not  know  what  this 
wrong  could  be. 

"  She  kissed  me  on  my  forehead  and  said  :  *  May 

God  ever  let  you  keep  your  brave  heart,  my  child  ; 

I  thank  you  for  every  joke  to  which  you  forced 

^yourself  to-day.'     I,  however,  knew  not  what  to 


i68  THE  WISH. 


reply,  for  JJaat-eoTrsctoxisness  of  guilt,  which_Lc-Quld 
not  grasp,  was  gnawing  at  my  soul  When  I  was 
alone  in  my  room,  I  thought  to  myself,  *  There, 
now  you  will  celebrate  Christmas/  I  took  Robert's 
letters  out  of  the  drawer  where  I  kept  them  care- 
fully hidden,  and  determined  to  read  at  them  far 
into  the  night. 

"  The  storm  rattled  my  shutters,  snow-flakes 
drifted  with  a  soft  rustle  against  the  window-panes, 
and  above,  there  peacefully  gleamed  the  green- 
shaded  hanging  lamp. 

"Then,  as  I  comfortably  spread  out  the  little 
heap  of  letters  in  front  of  me,  I  heard  next  door,  in 
Martha's  room,  a  dull  thud  and  thereupon  an  indis- 
tinct noise  that  sounded  to  me  like  praying  and 
sobbing. 
'  "  *  That  is  how  she  celebrates  Christmas,'  I  said, 
/  involuntarily  folding  my  hands,  and  again  I  felt 
that  pang  at  my  heart,  as  if  I  were  acting._d£ceit- 
fully  and  heartlessly  towards  my  sister. 

"  And  I  brooded  over  it  again  till  it  became  clear 
to  me  that  the  letters  were  to  blame. 
L       "  *  Do  I  not  write  and  keep  silence  all  for  her 
'    good?'  I  asked  myself;  but  my  conscience  would 


THE  WISH,  169 


not  be  bribed  ;  it  answered  :  *  No.'  Like  flames  of 
fire  my  blood  shot  up  into  my  face,  for  I  recognised 
with  what  pleasure  my  own  heart  hung  upon  those 
letters.  *  What  would  she  not  give  for  one  of  these 
papers  ? '  I  went  on  thinking,  *  She  who  perhaps  no 
longer  believes  in  his  love,  who  is  wrestling  with  the 
fear  that  he  only  did  not  come  because  he  meant  to 
tear  asunder  the  ties  that  bind  him  to  her  heart.' 
*  And  you  hear  her  sobbing  ?  '  the  voice  within  me 
continued,  *you  leave  her  in  her  anguish,  and 
meanwhile  comfort  yourself  with  the  knowledge 
that  you  share  a  secret  with  him,  with  him  who 
belongs  to  her  alone  ?  '         -<^  ,4,/v^^JIf 

"  I  clasped  my  hands  before  my  face  ;  shame  so 
powerfully  possessed  me,  that  I  was  afraid  of  the 
light  which  shone  down  upon  me. 

"  *  Give  her  the  letters  ! '  the  voice  cried  suddenly, 
and  cried  so  loudly  and  distinctly  that  I  thought 
the  storm  must  have  shouted  the  words  in  my  ears. 

"  Then  I  fought  a  hard  battle  ;  but  each  time 
my  good  intention  wavered,  hard  pressed  by  the 
fear  of  breaking  my  word  to  him,  and  by  the  wish 
to  remain  still  longer  in  secret  correspondence  with 
him,  her  sobbing  and  praying  reached  me  more 


I70  THE  WISH, 


distinctly  and  confused  my  senses  so,  that  I  felt 
like  fleeing  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  in  order  to  hear 
no  more. 

"And  at  length  I  had  made  up  my  mind.  I 
carefully  packed  the  letters  together  in  a  neat  little 
heap,  tied  them  round  with  a  silk  ribbon,  and  set 
about  carrying  them  across  to  her. 

"  *  That  shall  be  your  Christmas  present,'  said  I, 
for  I  remembered  that  this  year  I  had  not  been 
able  to  embroider  or  crochet  anything  for  her,  as 
had  usually  been  the  custom  between  us.  And  as 
he  who  gives  likes  to  clothe  his  doings  in  theatrical 
garb  in  order  to  hide  his  overflowing  heart,  I 
determined  first  to  act  a  little  comedy  with 
her. 

"  I  crept,  half-dressed  as  I  was,  down  into  the 
sitting-room,  where  our  presents  were  spread  under 
the  Christmas  tree,  groped  in  the  dark  for  her 
plate,  gathered  up  what  lay  beside  it,  and  on  the 
top  of  all  placed  the  little  packet  of  letters.  Thus 
laden,  I  came  to  her  door  and  knocked. 

"  I  heard  a  sound  like  some  one  dragging  him- 
self up  from  the  floor,  and  after  a  long  while — 
she  was  probably  drying  her  eyes  first— her  voice 


THE  WISH.  171 


was  heard  at  the  door,  asking  who  was  there  and 
what  was  wanted  of  her. 

"  *  It  is  I,  Martha/  I  said,  *  I  come  to  bring  you — 
your  plate — you  left  it  downstairs.' 

"  *  Take  it  with  you  into  your  room,  I  will  fetch 
it  to-morrow,'  she  replied,  trying  hard  to  suppress 
the  sobs  in  her  voice. 

"  *  But  something  else  has  been  added  '  said  I, 
and  my  words  too  were  almost  choked  with  tears. 

"  *  Then  %\w^  it  me  to-morrow/  she  replied,  '  I 
am  already  undressed.' 

"  *  But  it  is  from  me,'  said  I. 

"  And  because,  despite  her  misery,  m  the  kind- 
ness of  her  heart  she  did  not  want  to  hurt  my 
feelings,  she  opened  the  door.  I  rushed  up  to  her 
and  wept  upon  her  neck,  while  I  kept  tight  hold  of 
the  plate  with  my  left  hand. 

"  *  Whatever  is  the  matter  with  you,  child  ? '  she 
asked,  and  patted  me.  *  A  little  while  ago  you 
seemed  the  only  cheerful  one,  and  now ' 

"  I  pulled  myself  together,  led  her  under  the 
light,  and  pointed  to  the  plate.  At  the  first  glance 
she  recognised  the  handwriting,  grew  as  white  as  a 
sheet,  and  stared  at  me  like  one  possessed,  out  of 
eyes  that  were  red  with  weeping. 


172  THE  WISH, 


"  *  Take  them,  take  them  ! '  said  I. 

"  She  stretched  out  her  hand,  but  it  shrank  back 
as  at  the  touch  of  red-hot  iron. 

"  *  See,  Martha  !  *  said  I,  with  the  desire  to  revenge 
myself  for  her  silence,  and  at  the  same  time  to  brag 
a  little,  *  you  had  no  confidence  in  me ;  you  con- 
sidered me  too  childish,  but  I  saw  through  every- 
thing, and  while  you  were  fretting,  I  was  up  and 
doing.*  Still  she  continued  to  stare  at  me,  without 
power  of  comprehension.  *You  imagine  that  he 
no  longer  cares  about  you,*  I  went  on,  *  while  all 
the  time  I  have  had  to  ^\\iq  him  regular  account 
of  your  doings  and  of  the  state  of  your  health. 
Every  week * 

"  She  staggered  back,  seized  her  head  with  both 
her  hands,  and  then  suddenly  a  shudder  seemed  to 
pass  through  her  frame.  She  stepped  close  up  to 
me,  grasped  my  two  hands,  and  with  a  peculiarly 
hoarse  voice  she  said,  *  Look  me  in  the  face,  Olga ! 
\A/]3ich  of  you  two  wrote  the  first  letter  ? '  I     I 

"  *  I,'  said  I,  astonished,  for  I  did  not  yet  know 
what  she  was  driving  at. 

"  *  And.  you — you  betrayed  to  him  the  state  of 
my  feelings — you — offered  me,  Olga  ?  ' 


THE  WISH.  173 


"  *  What  puts  such  an  idea  into  your  head  ?  '  said 
I.  *  He  himself  confessed  everything  to  me  when 
he  was  here.  Oh,  he  knew  me  better  than  you/  I 
added,  for  I  could  not  let  this  small  trump  slip  by. 
*  He  was  not  ashamed  to  confide  in  me.' 

"  *  Thank  God  ! '  she  murmured  with  a  deep  sigh, 
and  folded  her  hands. 

" '  But  now  come,  Martha,'  said  I,  leading  her 
to  the  table,  *  now  we  will  celebrate  Christmas.' 

"  And  then  we  read  the  letters  together,  one  after 
the  other,  and  from  one  and  all  his  heart,  faithful 
and  true  as  gold,  shone  forth  through  the  simple, 
awkward  words,  and  spread  a  warm  glow,  so  that 
our  heavily  oppressed  souls  grew  lighter  and  more 
cheerful,  that  we  laughed  and  cried  with  cheek 
pressed  to  cheek,  and  almost  squeezed  our  hands 
off  in  the  mutual  attempt  to  make  each  other  feel 
the  pressure  which  his  warm  red  fist  was  wont  to 
give. 

"  And  then  suddenly — it  was  at  one  place  where 
he  specially  impressed  upon  me  to  be  sure  and 
take  great  care  of  her  and  watch  over  her  and 
protect  her  for  his  sake — her  happiness  over- 
whelmed  her,  and — I   blush   to   write  it  down — 


174  THE  WISH, 


she  fell  on  her  knees  before  me  and  pressed  her 
lips  to  my  hand. 

"  But,  though  I  was  much  startkd,  I  no  longer 

felt  anything  of  that  pricking  and  gnawing  which 

a  little  while  before,  under  the  Christmas  tree,  had 

so  sorely  beset  my  bosom.     I  knew  that  my  guilt 

was   blotted   out,  and   with  a   free    light   heart  I 

vowed   to   myself    now  indeed    to   watch   like   a 

guardian  angel  over  mj^isjber,  who  was  so  much 

more  feeble  and  in  want  of  direction  than  I,  the 

foolish   and   immature  .child.     And   she   felt   this 

herself,   for   unresistingly   she,   who   had    hitherto 

treated  me  as  a  child,  submitted  to  my  guidance. 

J/         "  At  last  I  had  attained  the  desire  of  my  heart. 

/      h\  had  a  human  being  whom  I  could  pet  and  spoil 

/  as  much  as  I  pleased  ;  and,  now  that  every  barrier 

i  between  us  had  fallen,  I  lavished  upon  my  sister 

/    all  the   tenderness   which  had    for   so   long   been 

'/   stored  up  unused  within  me. 

'        "  Father  and  mother  were  not  a  little  surprised 

■J    at  the  newly-awakened  cordiality  of  our  relations 

to  each  other,  that  just  latterly  had  left  much  to 

be  desired,  and  Martha  herself  could  hardly  grow 

accustomed  to  the  change.     She  contemplated  me 


THE  WISH.  I7S 


every  day  in  new  astonishment,  and  often  said^ 
*  How  could  I  suspect  that  there  was  so  much  love 
within  you  ? ' 

"  If  she  could  only  have  known  what  a  sacrifice 
it  cost  me  to  divulge  my  secret,  she  would  have  put 
a  still  higher  value  upon  my  love. 

"  Yes,  I  had  rightly  guessed  how  it  would  be : 
from  the  moment  when  Martha  had  held  the  letters 
in  her  hand,  the  happiness  of  my  secret  understand- 
ing with  Robert  was  at  an  end  for  me.  Like  a 
stranger  he  now  appeared  to  me,  and  when  I  sat 
down  to  write  to  him  I  felt  like  a  mere  machine 
that  has  to  copy  other  people's  thoughts.  Often 
I  even  passed  on  a  letter  unread  to  Martha  as  soon 
as  I  received  it  from  the  inspector's  hands.  Some- 
times it  worried  me  that  I  had  abused  his  confidence 
to  such  an  extent,  for  he  suspected  nothing  of  her 
knowledge ;  but  when  I  looked  at  her,  saw  her 
newly-awakening  smile  and  the  quiet,  dreamy 
happiness  that  shone  forth  from  her  eyes,  I  con- 
soled my  conscience  with  the  thought  that  I  could 
not  possibly  have  committed  any  wrong.  So  far  I 
had  only  become  his  betrayer;  soon  I  was  to  betray 
Martha  too. 


176  THE  WISH, 


"Winter  and  spring  passed  by  swiftly,  and  the 
time  came  for  storing  the  sheaves  in  the  barns. 

"  As  soon  as  the  harvest  was  over  he  intended  to 
come;  but  before  then,  he  wrote,  there  was  many  a 
hardship  to  be  surmounted. 


"  One  day  papa  appeared  in  the  kitchen,  where 
we  were,  with  an  apparently  indifferent  air,  snuffled 
about  for  a  while  among  the  pots  and  pans,  and 
meanwhile  kept  on  slashing  at  the  long  leggings  of 
his  water-boots  with  his  riding-whip. 

"*Why  you  have  become  a  Paul  Pry  to-day, 
papa  ?  '  said  I. 

"  He  gave  a  short  laugh  and  remarked,  *  Yes,  I 
have  become  a  Paul  Pry/  And  when  he  had  for 
some  time  longer  been  running  backwards  and 
forwards  without  speaking,  he  suddenly  stopped 
in  front  of  Martha  and  said — 

"*If  you  should  just  have  time,  my  child,  you 
might  come  into  the  room  for  a  moment.  Mama 
and  I  have  something  to  say  to  you.' 

"*Ah,  I  see,' said  I,  *  that  is  the  reason  for  this 
long  preliminary.     May  I  come  too  ? ' 


THE   WISH,  177 


"  *  No/  he  replied.  '  You  remain  in  the 
kitchen.' 

"  Martha  gave  me  a  long  look,  took  off  her  apron, 
and  went  with  him  to  the  sitting-room. 

"  For  a  while  all  remained  quiet  in  there.  Round 
about  me  the  steam  was  hissing,  the  pots  were 
broiling,  and  one  of  the  maids  was  making  a  great 
clatter  cleaning  knives  ;  but  all  this  noise  was  sud- 
denly penetrated  by  a  short,  piercing  cry  which 
could  only  proceed  from  Martha's  lips. 

"  Trembling  I  listened,  and  at  the  same  moment 
papa  came  rushing  into  the  kitchen,  calling  for 
*  Water ! '  I  hurried  past  him,  and  found  my  sister 
lying  fainting  on  the  ground  with  her  head  in 
mama's  lap. 

"*What  have  you  been  doing  to  Martha?'  I 
cried,  throwing  myself  on  my  knees  beside  her. 

"No  one  answered  me.  Mama,  as  helpless  as 
a  child,  was  wringing  her  hands,  and  papa  was 
chewing  his  moustache,  to  suppress  his  tears,  as  it 
seemed.  Then,  as  I  bent  down  over  the  poor 
creature,  I  saw  a  blue-speckled  sheet  of  paper 
lying  beside  her  on  the  floor,  which  I  immediately, 
and  unobserved  by  any  one,  appropriated. 


178  THE  WISH, 


"Thereupon  I  quickly  did  what  was  most  pres- 
sing :  I  recalled  my  sister  to  consciousness,  and  led 
her,  while  she  gazed  about  with  vacant  eyes,  up  to 
her  room. 

"There  I  laid  her  upon  her  bed.  She  stared  up 
at  the  ceiling,  and  from  time  to  time  wanted  to 
drink.  Her  spirit  did  not  yet  seem  to  have 
awakened  again  at  all. 

"  I  meanwhile  secretly  drew  the  letter  from  my 
pocket,  and  read  what  I  here  record  verbally ;  for 
I  have  carefully  preserved  this  monument  of 
motherly  and  sisterly  affection  : — 

"  *  My  beloved  B150THER !  Dearest  Sister- 
IN-Law  ! — A  circumstance  of  a  very  painful  nature 
compels  me  to  write  to  you  to-day.  You  are,  I 
am  sure,  fully  convinced  how  much  I  love  you,  and 
how  much  my  heart  longs  to  be  in  the  closest 
possible  relation  to  you  and  your  children.  All 
through  my  life  I  have  only  shown  you  kindness 
and  affection,  and  received  the  same  from  you. 
Relying  on  this  affection  I  to-day  address  a  re- 
quest to  you,  which  is  prompted  by  the  anxiety  of 
a  mother's  heart.     To-day  my  son  Robert  came  to 


THE  WISH.  179 


us  and  declared  that  he  intended  asking  you  for 
your  daughter  Martha's  hand  ;  begging  us  at  the 
same  time  to  give  our  consent,  with  which,  as  a 
good  son  and  also  as  a  prudent  man  he  cannot 
dispense,  as  unfortunately  he  still  depends,  to  a 
great  extent,  on  our  assistance. 

"  *  If  I  might  have  followed  the  bent  of  my  heart, 
I  would  have  fallen  upon  his  neck  with  tears  of 
joy ;  but,  unhappily,  1  had  to  keep  a  clear  head 
for  my  son  and  my  husband — who  are  both 
children — and  was  forced  to  tell  him  that  on  no 
account  could  anything  come  of  this. 

" '  My  dear  brother,  I  do  not  wish  to  reproach 
you  in  any  way  for  not  having  been  able  to  keep 
your  affairs  straight  in  the  course  of  years — far  be 
it  from  me  to  mix  myself  up  in  matters  that  do 
not  concern  me  ;  but  as  these  matters  now  stand, 
your  estate  is  encumbered  with  debts,  and,  with 
the  exception  of — as  I  would  fain  believe — an 
ample  *  trousseau,'  your  daughters  would  not  have 
a  farthing  of  dowry  to  expect.  On  the  other  hand, 
my  son  Robert's  estate  is  also  heavily  embarrassed 
through  the  payments  which  he  had  to  make  to  us 
and    his  sisters  and  brothers — as  well  as  by  the 


i8o  THE  WISH, 


xM 


mortgages  which  we  still  hold  upon  it,  and  by  the 
interests  of  which  we  and  my  other  children  have 
to  live — so  that  marriage  with  a  poor  girl  would 
simply  mean  ruin  to  him. 

"  *  I  do  not  take  into  account  that  your  daughter 
Martha  must — according  to  your  letters — be  a 
weakly  and  delicate  creature,  and  therefore  appears 
to  me  utterly  unfit  to  take  cheerfully  upon  herself 
the  cares  of  this  large  household  and  to  render 
my  son  Robert  happy  ;  the  idea  that  she  would 
come  into  his  house  with  empty  hands  is  in  itself 
decisive  for  me,  and  suffices  to  convince  me  that 
she  herself  must  become  unhappy  and  make  him 
so. 

" '  If  your  daughter  Martha  truly  loves  my  son 
Robert,  it  will  not  prove  hard  for  her  to  renounce 
all  thoughts  of  a  marriage  with  him  in  the  interests 
of  his  welfare,  provided,  of  course,  he  should  still 
have  the  courage  to  propose  to  her  in  spite  of  his 
parents'  opposition — although  I  do  not  expect  such 
filial  disobedience  from  him,  and  absolutely  cannot 
imagine  such  a  thing.  I  am  convinced,  my  dear 
relations,  that  your  brotherly  and  sisterly  affection 
will  prompt  you  to  join  with  me  in  refusing  your 


THE  WISH,  i8i 


consent,  now  and  for  ever,  to  such  a  pernicious  and 

unnatural  union, 

"  *  Yours,  with  sincere  love, 

"*  Johanna  Hellinger. 

"*P.S. — How    have    your    crops    turned    out? 

Winter  rye  with  us  is  good,  but  the  potatoes  show 

much  disease.' 

***** 

"  Rage  at  this  mean  and  hypocritical  piece  of 
WTiting  so  possessed  me,  that  loudly  laughing,  I 
crumpled  the  sheet  of  paper  beneath  my  feet. 

"  My  laughter  probably  hurt  Martha,  for  it  was 
her  moaning  which  at  length  brought  me  back  to 
my  senses.  There  she  lay  now,  helplessly  smitten 
down,  as  if  shattered  by  the  blow  which  ^ould 
have  steeled  her  strength  for  enhanced  resistance. 
And  as  I  gazed  down  upon  her,  tortured  by  the 
consciousness  of  being  condemned  to  look  on  idly, 
there  once  again  broke  forth  from  my  soul  that 
sigh  of  former  times  :  *  Oh^^^that^youwere — she  ! ' 
But  what  new  meaning  it  concealed  !  What  then 
had  been  folly  and  childishness,  had  now  developed 
into  seriousness  of  purpose,  readj^  self-sacrifice,  and 
consciousness  of  strength. 


[^ 


1 82  THE  WISH. 


"  I  determined  to  act  as  long  as  ever  there  was 
time  yet.  First  of  all,  I  would  go  to  my  parents, 
tell  them  what  I  had  done,  and  that  for  a  long  time 
already  I  had  been  initiated  into  everything — and 
finally  demand  of  them  to  assign  to  me  at  length 
that  position  in  the  family  council  which,  in  spite 
of  my  youth,  was  due  to  me. 

"  But  I  rejected  this  idea  again.  As  soon  as  I 
participated  in  the  deliberations  of  my  family,  it 
became  my  duty  not  to  act  contrary  to  whatever 
they  thought  good,  and  only  if  I  apparently  took 
no  heed  of  anything,  could  I  be  working  for  the 
salvation  of  my  poor  sister  according  to  my  own 
plans  and  my  own  judgment. 

"  I  very  soon  saw  how  matters  lay.  Each  one 
had  read  in  the  letter  what  most  appealed  to  his 
nature. 

"  Papa,  quite  possessed  by  a  poor  man's  pride, 
would,  after  this,  have  thought  it  a  disgrace  to  let 
his  child  enter  a  family  where  she  would  be  looked 
at  disparagingly.  Mama,  for  her  part,  had  been 
touched  by  the  interspersed  professions  of  affection, 
and  thought  that  her  sister-in-law's  confidence 
ought  not  to  be  abused. 


THE  WISH,  183 


"  And  my  sister  ? 

"That  same  night,  as  I  kept  watch  at  her  bed- 
side, I  felt  her  place  her  hot  hand  upon  mine  and 
draw  me  gently  towards  her  with  her  feeble  arm. 

"  *  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Olga,'  she 
whispered,  still  looking  up  at  the  ceiling  with  her 
sad  eyes. 

"*Had  we  not  better  leave  it  till  to-morrow?* 
I  suggested. 

"  *  No,'  she  said,  *  else  meanwhile  that  will  happen 
which  must  not  happen.  Henceforth  all  is  over 
between  him  and  me.' 

"  *  You  little  know  him,'  said  I. 

"  *  But  I  know  myself,*  said  she.     *  I  break  it  off.' 

"  '  Martha  ! '  I  cried,  horrified. 

"  *  I  know  very  well,'  she  said,  *  that  I  shall  die  of 
it,  but  what  does  that  matter  ?  I  am  of  very  little 
account.  It  is  better  so,  than  that  I  should  make 
him  unhappy.' 

"  *  You  are  talking  in  a  fever,  Martha,'  I  cried, 
*  for  I  do  not  think  you  silly  enough  to  let  yourself 
be  baited  by  the  trash  of  that  old  hag.' 

"  *  I  feel  only  too  well  that  she  speaks  the  truth,' 
said  she.     A  cold  shudder  passed  through  me  when 


1 84  THE  WISH. 


I  heard  her  pronounce  these  despairing  and  hope- 
less words  as  calmly  and  composedly  as  if  they 
were  a  formula  of  the  multiplication  table.  *  Do 
not  gainsay  me/  she  continued;  ^not  only  since 
to-day  do  I  know  this — I  have  always  felt  some- 
thing of  the  kind,  and  ought  by  rights  not  to  have 
been  startled  to-day;  but  it  certainly  does  upset 
one,  when  one  so  unexpectedly  sees  in  writing 
before  one's  eyes  the  death  sentence  which  hitherto 
one  has  scarcely  dared  to  suggest  to  one's  own 
conscience.' 

"  As  eloquently  as  I  possibly  could,  I  remon- 
strated with  her.  I  consigned  our  aunt  to  the 
blackest  depths  of  hell,  and  proved  to  a  nicety  that 
she  (Martha)  alone  was  born  to  become  the  good 
angel  in  Robert's  house.  But  it  was  no  good,  her 
faith  in  herself  would  not  be  revived  ;  the  blow  had 
fallen  upon  her  too  heavily.  And  finally  she  ex- 
pected it  of  me  to  write  no  further  letter  to  him, 
and  to  break  off  our  intercourse  once  and  for  all. 
I  was  alarmed  to  the  depths  of  my  soul,  no  less 
for  my  own  than  for  her  sake.  I  refused,  too,  with 
all  the  energy  of  which  I  was  capable ;  but  she 
persisted   in  her  determination,  and  as  she  even 


THE  WISH,  1 8s 


threatened  to  betray  our  correspondence  to  our 
parents,  I  was  at  length  forced  to  comply,  whether 
I  would  or  no. 

***** 

"Troubled  days  were  in  store.  Martha  slunk 
about  the  house  like  a  ghost.  Papa  rode  like  wild 
through  the  woods,  stayed  away  at  meal-times,  and 
had  not  a  good  word  for  any  of  us.  Mama,  our 
good,  fat  mama,  sat  knitting  in  her  corner,  and 
from  time  to  time  wiped  the  tears  out  of  her  eyes, 
while  she  looked  round  anxiously,  lest  any  one 
should  notice  it.     Yes,  it  was  a  sad  time  ! 

"  Two  urgent  letters  from  Robert  had  arrived. 
He  wrote  that  he  was  in  great  trouble,  and  I  was 
to  send  him  tidings  forthwith.  I  told  Martha 
nothing  of  them,  but  I  kept  my  promise. 

"A  week  had  passed  by,  when  I  noticed  that  our 
parents  were  discussing  what  answer  they  would 
send  to  aunt.  In  order  to  exclude  any  suspicion 
of  sneaking  into  a  marriage,  papa  had  the  intention 
of  binding  himself  by  a  final  promise,  and  mama 
said  *  yes,'  as  she  said  yes  to  everything  that  did 
not  concern  jellies  and  sweets. 

"The  same   day  Martha  declared  that  she  felt 


i86  THE  WISH. 


unfit  to  leave  her  bed — that  she  had  no  pain,  but 
that  her  limbs  would  not  carry  her. 

"  Thus  I  saw  misfortune  gathering  more  and 
more  darkly.     I  dared  not  hesitate  any  longer. 

**  *  Come  !  Redeem  your  promise  before  it  is  too 
late.*  These  words  I  wrote  to  him.  And  to  be 
quite  sure,  I  myself  ran  down  into  the  town,  and 
handed  the  letter  to  the  postillion  who  was  just 
preparing  to  start  for  Prussia. 

"At  the  moment  when  the  envelope  left  my 
hands,  I  felt  a  pang  at  my  heart  as  if  I  had  thereby 
surrendered  by  soul  to  strange  powers. 

"  Three  times  I  was  on  the  point  of  returning  to 
ask  my  letter  back,  but  when  I  did  so  in  good 
earnest  the  postillion  was  already  far  away. 

"  When  I  climbed  up  the  slope  leading  to  the 
manor  house  I  hid  myself  in  the  bushes  and  wept 
bitterly. 

"  From  that  hour  an  agitation  possessed  me,  such 
as  I  had  never  before  in  my  life  experienced.  I 
felt  as  if  fever  were  burning  in  my  limbs — at  nights 
I  ran  about  my  room  restlessly,  all  day  long  I  was 
on  the  look-out,  and  every  approaching  carriage 
drove  all  the  blood  to  my  heart. 


THE  WISH,  187 


*'  I  gave  wrong  answers  to  every  question,  and 
the  very  maids  in  the  kitchen  began  to  shake  their 
heads  doubtfully.  A  bride  who  is  expecting  her 
bridegroom  could  not  behave  more  crazily. 

"  This  state  of  things  lasted  for  four  days,  and  it 
was  lucky  for  me  that  each  member  of  the  family 
was  so  engrossed  with  himself,  else  suspicion  and 
cross-examination  could  not  have  been  spared  me. 

"  This  time  I  did  not  receive  him.  When  I 
recognised  his  figure  in  the  strange,  four-horse 
carriage  which,  all  besplashed  with  mud,  tore 
through  the  courtyard  gate,  I  ran  up  to  the  attic 
and  hid  in  the  most  remote  corner. 

"My  face  was  aglow,  my  limbs  trembled,  and 
before  my  eyes  fiery-red  mists  were  dancing,     i 

"Downstairs  I  heard  doors  banging,  heard 
hurried  steps  lumber  up  and  down  the  stairs,  heard 
the  servants*  voices  calling  my  name — I  did  not 
stir. 

"And  when  all  had  become  quiet,  I  stole 
cautiously  down  the  back  staircase,  out  into  the 
park,  in  the  wildest  wilderness  of  which  I  crouched 
down.  A  peculiar  feeling  of  bitterness  and  shame 
agitated  me.     I  felt  as  if  I   must  take  to  flight, 


THE  WISH. 


only  never  again  to  have  to  face  that  pair  of  eyes 
for  whose  coming  I  yet  had  so  longingly  waited. 
And  then  I  pictured  to  myself  what,  during  these 
moments,  was  most  probably  taking  place  in  the 
house.  Papa  was  sure  to  have  been  somewhat 
helpless  at  sight  of  him,  for  he  certainly  still  felt 
the  effects  of  that  wicked  letter  ;  he  was  sure  also 
to  have  resisted  a  little  when  he  heard  him  utter 
his  proposal  ;  but  then  Martha  had  appeared — how 
quickly  she  has  found  her  strength  again,  poor 
ailing  creature,  who  but  a  few  moments  ago  lay 
tired  to  death  on  the  sofa,  how  quickly  she  will 
have  forgotten  everything  that  the  years  have 
brought  of  sorrow  and  sadness — and  now  they  will 
lie  in  each  other's  embrace  and  not  remember  me. 

"  And  then  suddenly  a  dark  feeling  of  defiance 
awoke  within  me.  ^  Why  do  you  hide  away  ?  * 
cried  a  voice.  *  Have  you  not  done  your  duty  ? 
Is  not  all  this  your  work  1  * 

"  With  a  sudden  jerk  I  raised  myself  up, 
smoothed  back  my  tumbled  hair  from  my  fore- 
head, and  with  firm  tread  and  set  lips  I  walked 
towards  the  house.  No  sound  of  rejoicing  greeted 
my  ears.     All  was  quiet — quiet  as  the  grave.     In 


THE  WISH,  189 


the  Hining-room  I  found  mama  alone.      She  had 

folded   her  hands   and   was   heaving   deep   sighs,  \ 

while  great  tears  rolled  down  as  far  as  her  white 

double  chin.  \ 

"  *  That  is  the  result  of  her  emotion/  thous^ht  I 
to  myself^  and  sat  down  facing  her.  | 

"*  Wherever  have  you  been  hiding,  Olga?'  she  \ 

said,   this    time   drying   her   eyes   quite   leisurely.  \ 

*  You   must   have   a   few  young   fowls   killed   for  ^ 

supper,  and  set  the  good  Moselle  in  a  cold  place.  \ 

Cousin  Robert  has  come.'  ; 

"  *  Ah,  indeed,'  said  I,  very  calmly,  *  where  may  • 

he  be  ? ' 

"  *  He  is  speaking  to  papa  in  his  study.' 

"  *  And  where  is  Martha  ?  '  I  asked,  smiling. 

"  She  gave  me  a  disapproving  look  for  my  pre- 
cociousness,  and  then  said,  *  She  is  in  there,  too.' 

"  '  Then  I  suppose  I  can  go  at  once  and  offer  my 
congratulations;  I  remarked.    C^rO/^i^ ^.U^^ 

"  *  Saucy  girl,'  said  she.  ''  \ 

"  But  before  I  could  carry  out  my  purpose  the  ; 

door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened  and  in  walked 
slowly,  as  slowly  as  if  he  came  from  a  sepulchre, 
^qbert-Ti^Cousin   Robert,  with  ashy  pale  face  and 


I90  THE  WISH, 


great  drops  of  perspiration  on  his  brow.  I  felt 
how,  at  sight  of  him,  all  my  blood,  too,  left  my 
face.  A  presentiment  of  evil  awoke  within 
me. 

"  *  Where  is  Martha  ? '  I  cried,  hastening  towards 
him. 

"  *  I  do  not  know.'  He  spoke  as  if  every  word 
choked  him.     He  did  not  even  shake  hands. 

"  And  then  papa  came  too,  after  him. 

"Mama  had  got  up  and  all  three  stood  there 
and  silently  shook  hands  like  at  a  funeral. 

"  *  Where  is  Martha  ? '  I  cried  once  more. 

"  *  Go  and  look  after  her,'  said  papa,  *  she  will 
want  you.' 

"  I  rushed  out,  up  the  stairs  to  her  room.  It  was 
locked. 

"  *  Martha,  open  the  door  !      It  is  I.' 

"  Nothing  stirred. 

"  I  begged,  I  implored,  I  promised  to  make 
everything  right  again.  I  lavished  endearing 
epithets  upon  her — that,  too,  was  in  vain.  Nothing 
was  audible  except  from  time  to  time  a  deep 
breath  which  sounded  like  a  gasp  from  a  half- 
throttled  throat 


THE  WISH.  191 


"  Then  rage  seized  me,  that  I  should  be  eveiy- 
where  repulsed. 

"  *  I  suppose  I  am  just  good  enough  to  prepare 
the  mourning  repast/  I  said,  laughing  out  loud,  ran 
to  the  maids  and  had  six  young  chickens  killed — 
and  even  stood  by  calmly  while  the  poor  little 
creatures'  blood  squirted  out  of  their  necks.  q^^ 

"  One  of  them,  a  young  cockerel,  quite  desper- 
ately beat  its  wings  and  crowed  for  very  terror  oi\ 
death,  while  it  thrust  its  spurs  at  the  maid's  fingers, 


H 

"'Even  a  poor,  weak  animal  like   this   resists  ^''Hr^ y  | 


when  one  tries  to  kill  it,'  I  thought  to  myself,  *  but 
my  lady  sister  humbly  kisses  the  hand  that  wields 
the  knife  against  her.'  ^fX 

"  The  death  of  these  innocent  beings  might 
almost  be  called  gay  in  comparison  with  the  meal 
for  which  they  served.  No  condemned  criminal's 
last  meal  could  pass  more  dismally.  Every  five 
minutes  some  one  suddenly  began  to  talk,  and 
then  talked  as  if  paid  for  it.  The  others  nodded 
knowingly,  but  I  could  very  well  see  :  whoever 
heard  did  not  know  what  he  heard,  whoever  talked 
id  not  know  what   he  was  talking  about. 

"  Martha  had  not  put  in  an  appearance.     When 


"< 


192  THE  WISH. 


we  were  about  to  separate,  each  one  to  go  to  his 
room,  Robert  seized  both  my  hands  and  drew  me 
into  a  corner. 

"  *  My  thanks  to  you,  Olga,'  he  said,  while  his  lips 
twitched,  *  for  having  so  faithfully  taken  my  part. 
Now  we  will  mark  a  long  pause  at  the  end  of  our 
letters/ 

"  *  For  heaven's  sake,  Robert,*  I  stammered, 
*  however  did  this  come  about  ?  * 

"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders.  *  I  suppose  I  kept 
her  waiting  too  long,*  he  then  said  ;  *  she  has 
grown  tired  of  me.* 

"  I  was  about  to  cry  out :  *  That  is  not  true — that 
is  not  true  !  *  but  behind  us  stood  my  father  and 
informed  him  that,  according  to  his  wish,  the  con- 
veyance would  be  ready  at  daybreak. 

"  *  Then  I  am  not  to  see  you  any  more  ?  *  I  cried, 
alarmed. 

"  He  shook  his  head.  *  We  had  better  bid  each 
other  good-bye  now,*  he  said,  and  squeezed  my 
hand. 

"Within  me  a  voice  cried  that  he  must  not 
depart  thus,  that  I  must  speak  to  him  at  any  price. 
But    I    bravely   suppressed   the   words   that  were 


THE  WISH,  193 


nearly  choking  me.  And  so  we  once  more  shook 
hands  and  separated. 

"  I  had  several  things  to  do  yet  in  the  house,  and 
while  I  put  out  some  coffee  and  weighed  out  flour 
and  bacon  for  next  morning's  meal,  the  words  were 
constantly  in  my  ears  :  *  You  must  speak  to  him/ 

"  Then,  as  I  went,  with  my  candle  in  my  hand, 
up  to  my  room,  I  made  a  detour  past  his  door,  for 
I  hoped  I  might  perhaps  meet  him  on  the  landing  ; 
but  that  was  empty,  and  his  door  was  closed.  Only 
the  sound  of  his  heav)''  footsteps  inside  the  room 
was  audible  throughout  the  house. 

"  In  Martha's  room  it  was  as  silent  as  death.  I 
put  my  ear  to  the  keyhole  ;  nothing  was  audible. 
She  might  as  well  have  been  dead  or  flown. 

"Terror  seized  me.  I  knelt  down  in  front  of 
the  keyhole,  begged  and  implored,  and  finally 
threatened  to  fetch  our  parents  if  she  still  persisted 
in  giving  no  sign  of  life. 

"  Then  at  length  she  vouchsafed  me  an  answer. 
I  heard  a  voice  :  *  Spare  me,  child,  just  for  to-day 
spare  me  ! '  And  this  voice  sounded  so  strange 
that  I  hardly  recognised  it. 

"  I  went  on  my  way  now,  but  my  fear  increased 


194  THE  WISH, 


lest  he  might  set  forth  with  anger  and  disappoint- 
ment in  his  hearty  without  a  v/ord  of  explanation, 
without  ever  having  suspected  the  greatness  of 
Martha's  love. 

*'  A  very  fever  burnt  within  my  brain,  and  every 
pulsation  of  my  veins  cried  out  to  me  :  *  You  must 
speak  to  him — you  must  speak  to  him  ! ' 

"  I  half  undressed  and  threw  myself  on  the  sofa. 
The  clock  struck  eleven — it  struck  half-past  eleven. 
Still  his  footsteps  resounded  through  the  house. 
But  the  later  it  was,  the  more  did  it  grow  impos- 
sible for  me  to  carry  out  my  resolve. 

**  What  if  a  servant  should  spy  upon  me — should 
see  me  stealing  into  our  guest's  room  1  My  heart 
stood  still  at  the  thought. 

"  The  clock  struck  twelve.  I  opened  the 
window  and  looked  out  upon  the  world.  Every- 
thing seemed  asleep,  even  from  Robert's  and 
Martha's  rooms  no  light  shone  forth.  Both  were 
burying  their  sorrow  and  anguish  in  the  lap  of 
darkness. 

"  With  the  night  wind  that  beat  against  the 
casement,  the  words  droned  in  my  ears :  *  You 
must — you  must ! '     And  like  a  soft  sweet  melody 


THE  WISH.  195 


it  coaxed  and  cajoled  at  intervals  :  'Thus  you  will 
see  him  again — will  feel  his  hand  in  yours — will 
hear  his  voice — perhaps  even  his  laugh  ;  do  you 
not  want  to  bring  him  happiness — the  happiness 
of  his  life?' 

"  With  a  sudden  impulse  I  shut  the  casement, 
wrapped  myself  in  my  dressing-gown,  took  my 
slippers  in  my  hand  and  stole  out  into  the  dark 
corridor. 

"  Ah,  how  my  heart  beat,  how  my  blood  coursed 
through  my  temples  !  I  staggered — I  was  obliged 
to  support  myself  by  the  walls. 

"  Now  I  stood  outside  his  door.  Even  yet  his 
footsteps  shook  the  boards.  But  the  noise  of 
his  heavy  tread  had  ceased.  He  had  evidently 
divested  himself  of  his  boots. 

"  *  You  must  not  knock  ! '  it  struck  me  suddenly, 
*  that  would  not  escape  Martha.* 

"My  hand  grasped  the  door-handle.  I  shud- 
dered. I  do  not  know  how  I  opened  the  door. 
I  felt  as  if  some  one  else  had  done  it  for 
me. 

"  Before  me  the  outline  of  his  mighty  figure . 

"  A  low  cry  from  his  lips — a  bound  towards  me. 


196  THE  WISH. 


Then  I   felt  both  my  hands  clutched — felt  a  hot 
wave  of  breath  near  my  forehead. 

"At  the  first  moment  the  mad  idea  may  have 
darted  through  his  brain,  that  Martha  had  in  such 
impetuous  manner  bethought  herself  of  her  old 
love — in  the  next  he  had  already  recognised  me. 
"  *  For  Heaven's  sake,  child,'  he  cried,  *  whatever 
has  possessed  you  ?  What  brings  you  to  me  ? 
Has  no  one  possibly  seen  you,  say — has  no  one 
seen  you  ?  ' 

"  I  shook  my  head.  He  still  evidently  thinks 
you  very  stupid,  I  thought  to  myself,  and  drew  a 
deep  breath,  for  I  felt  the  terrors  of  my  venture 
were  disappearing  from  my  soul. 

"  He  set  me  free  and  hastened  to  make  a  light. 
I  groped  my  way  to  the  sofa,  and  dropped  down 
in  a  corner. 

"The  light  of  the  candle  flared  up — it  dazzled 
me.  I  turned  towards  the  wall  and  covered  my 
face.  A  feeling  of  weakness,  a  longing  to  cling 
to  something,  had  come  over  me.  I  was  so  glad 
to  be  with  him,  that  I  forgot  all  else. 

"*01ga,  my  dear,  good  child,'  he  urged,  'speak 
out,  tell  me  Avhat  you  want  of  me  ? ' 


THE  WISH,  197 


"  I  looked  up  at  him.  I  saw  his  swarthy, 
serious  face,  in  which  the  day's  trouble  had  graven 
deep  furrows,  and  became  lost  in  its  contempla- 
tion. 

"  *  What  do  you  want }  Do  you  bring  me  news 
of  Martha  ? ' 

"  Yes,  of  course,  Martha ! '  I  pulled  myself 
together.  Away  with  this  sentimental  self- 
abandon  !  In  my  limbs  I  once  more  felt  the 
firm  strength  of  which  I  was  so  proud.  *  Listen, 
Robert,'  said  I,  *  you  will  not  set  out  at  daybreak 
already.' 

« *  Why  should  I  not  do  so  ?  '  said  he,  setting  his 
lips. 

"  *  Because  I  do  not  wish  it !  * 

"  *  All  due  respect  to  your  wishes,  my  dear 
child  !  *  replied  he,  with  a  bitter  laugh,  *  but  they 
alter  nothing  in  my  resolve/ 

"  *  So  you  want  to  lose  Martha  for  ever?  * 
^"  Now  I  felt  myself  once  more  so  strong  and 
joyous  in  my  role  of  guardian,  that  I  would  have 
taken  up  fight  with  the  whole  world  to  bring  these 
two  together.  Foolish,  unsuspecting  creature  that 
I  was!  '^ 
\ 


198  THE  WISH. 


"  *  Have  I  not  already  lost  her  ?  '  he  replied,  and 
stared  into  vacancy. 

"  *  What  did  she  say  to  you  to-day  ?  * 

"  *  Why  should  I  repeat  it  ?  She  spoke  very 
wisely  and  very  staidly,  as  one  can  only  speak  if 
one  has  ceased  to  love  a  person/ 

"  *  And  you  really  believe  that  ? '  I  asked. 

"  *  Must  I  not  believe  it  ?  And  after  all,  what 
does  it  signify  ?  Even  if  she  had  retained  a 
remnant  of  her  affection  for  me,  she  did  well  to 
get  rid  of  it  thoroughly  on  this  occasion  ;  it  is 
better  thus,  for  her  as  well  as  for  me.  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  her  ;  no  happiness,  no  joy,  not 
even  some  little  paltry  pleasure,  nothing  but  work, 
and  trouble,  and  anxiety — from  year's  end  to 
year's  end.  And  added  to  that,  a  mother-in-law 
who  is  hostile  to  her,  who  would  make  her  feel  it 
keenly,  that  she  had  come  with  empty  hands/ 

"  I  felt  how  my  blood  rushed  to  my  face.  I  was 
ashamed,  but  not  for  Martha  or  myself — for  I  was 
of  course  just  as  poor  as  she ;  no,  for  him,  that 
he  should  have  to  speak  thus  of  his  own  mother. 

"  *  And  now  say  yourself,  my  girl,'  he  went  on, 
*  is  she  not  wiser,  with  such  prospects  before  her, 


THE  WISH,  199 


to  remain  in  the  shelter  of  her  warm  nest,  and 
to  send  me  about  my  business,  as  I  could  never 
give  her  anything  but  unhappiness  ? ' 

"  He  dishevelled  his  hair  and  ran  about  the 
room  the  while  like  a  hunted  animal. 

"  *  Robert,'  said  I,  *  you  are  deceiving  yourself/ 

"He  stopped,  looked  at  me  and  laughed  out 
loud :  *  What  is  it  you  want  of  me  ?  Am  I 
perhaps  to  demand  a  written  confirmation  of  her 
refusal,  before  I  betake  myself  off  ?  * 

"  *  Robert,'  I  continued,  without  allowing  myself 
to  be  put  out,  *  tell  me  candidly  whether  you  love 
her?' 

"*  Child,'  he  replied,  'should  I  be  here  if  I  did 
not  love  her  ? ' 

"  With  his  huge  arms  outspread  he  stood  before 
me.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  be  crushed  between  them 
if  they  closed  around  me — everything  danced 
before  my  eyes — I  squeezed  myself  further  into 
my  corner.  And  then  there  came  into  my 
thoughts  what  I  had  pictured  to  myself  now  and 
for  years  before ;  how  I  would  love  him  if  I  were 
Martha,  and  how  I  should  want  him  to  love  me  in 
return. 


THE  WISH. 


"  *  See,  Robert/  I  said,  *  taking  me  altogether,  I  \ 

am  a  foolish  creature.     But  as  regards  love,  I  do  ] 

know  about  that,  not  only  through  the  poets  ;    I  ] 

have  felt  it  in  myself  for  a  long  time/  | 

"  *  Do  you  love  some  one  then  ?  '  he  asked.  ^ 

*'  I  blushed  and  shook  my  head. 

"  *  How   else   can  you  feel  it  within  you  .^ '  he  i 

went  on.  .  '  y>iA^  j 

/     "*It   came  as   an   inspiration  from  Heaven,'  I 

replied,  lowering  my  gaze  to  the  ground,  *but  I  | 

know  I  would  not  love  like  you  two.     I  would  not 

:"  be  downcast,  I  would  not  steal  away  as  you  are 

doing    and    say :   "  It    is    better    so  ! "     I   would  1 

compel  her  with  the  ardour  of  my  soul ;  I  would  j 

conquer   her   with   the   strength   of    my   arms ;  I  \ 

would  clasp  her  to  my  breast  and  carry  her  away  \ 

with  me,  no  matter  whither  !     Out  into  the  night, 

)  into  the  desert,  if  no  sun  would  shine  upon  us,  no 

/   house  give  us  shelter.     I  would  starve  with  her  at  . 

1    the  roadside,  rather  than  give  fair  words  to  the  \ 

world — the   world    that    sought   to   separate   me  \ 

from  her.     Thus,  Robert,  I  would  act  if  I  were  1 

-1 
you  ;  and  if  I  were  she,  I  would  laughingly  throw 

myself  upon  your  breast,  and  would  say  to  you  :  \ 


THE  WISH. 


"  Come,  I  will  go  a-begging  for  you  if  you  have 
no  bread,  my  lap  shall  be  your  resting-place  if 
you  have  no  bed,  your  wounds  I  will  heal  with 
my  tears — I  will  suffer  a  thousand  deaths  for  your 
sake,  and  thank  God  that  it  is  vouchsafed  to  me 
to  do  so."  You  see,  Robert,  that  is  how  I  imagine 
love,  and  not  pasted^  together  out  of  fear  of 
mothers-in-law  and  unpaid  interests.' 

"  I  had  talked  myself  into  a  passion.  I  felt 
how  my  cheeks  were  a-glow,  and  then  suddenly 
shame  overwhelmed  me  at  the  thought  that  I  had 
thus  laid  bare  to  him  my  innermost  being.  I 
pressed  my  hands  to  my  face,  and  struggled  with 
my  tears. 

"  When  I  dared  to  look  up  again,  he  was  stand- 
ing before  me  with  glistening  eyes  and  staring  at 
me. 

"  *  Child,'  he  said,  *  where  in  all  the  world  did 
you  get  that  from?  Why  it  sounded  Hke  the 
Song  of  Songs.' 

"  I  set  my  teeth  and  was  silent.  I  did  not 
know  myself  how  it  had  come  to  me. 

"  He  then  seated  himself  at  my  side  and  seized 
both  my  hands. 


202  THE  WISH. 


" '  Olga/  he  went  on,  '  what  you  just  said  was 
not  exactly  practical,  but  it  was  beautiful  and 
true,  and  has  stirred  up  the  very  depths  of  my 
soul.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were  listening  to  a 
voice  from  some  other  world,  and  I  am  almost 
ashamed  of  having  been  faint-hearted  and 
cowardly.  But  even  if  I  braced  myself  up  and 
thought  as  you  do  :  what  good  would  it  all  be, 
seeing  that  she  no  longer  cares  for  me?* 

*' '  She  not  care  for  you  ? '  I  cried,  *  she  will  die 
of  it,  if  you  leave  her,  Robert ! ' 

"*01ga!' 

"  I  saw  how  a  joyful  doubt  illumined  his 
countenance,  and  I  felt  as  if  a  strange  hand  were 
gripping  at  my  throat ;  but  I  would  not  let 
myself  be  deterred  from  my  purpose,  and  gather- 
ing together  all  my  defiance,  I  continued :  *  I 
know,  Robert,  that  you  will  despise  me  when  you 
have  heard  what  I  am  about  to  tell  you  ;  but  I 
must  do  it,  so  that  you  may  understand  that 
you  cannot  depart.  I  have  played  a  false  game 
towards  you,  Robert,  I  have  betrayed  your  confi- 
dence. ' 

"And   with    bated    breath,   gasping    forth    the 


THE  WISH,  203 


words,  I  told  him  what  I  had  done  with  his 
letters. 

"  I  had  not  nearly  finished  when  I  suddenly  felt 
myself  seized  in  his  arms  and  clasped  to  his  breast. 

"  *  Olga,  and  this  is  true  ? '  he  cried,  quite  beside 
himself  with  joy,  *  can  you  swear  to  me  that  it  is 
the  truth?' 

"I  nodded  affirmatively,  for  the  tremor  that  ran 
deliciously  through  my  veins  had  robbed  me  of 
speech. 

" '  God  bless  you  for  this,  you  wise,  brave  girl,* 
he  cried,  and  pressed  me  so  firmly  to  his  breast 
that  I  could  hardly  draw  my  breath.  I  let  my 
head  drop  upon  his  shoulder  and  closed  my  eyes. 
And  then  I  started  as  I  felt  his  lips  upon  mine. 
It  seemed  to  me  as  if  a  flame  had  touched  me. 
And  again  and  again  he  kissed  me,  quite  senseless 
with  gratitude  and  happiness. 

"  I  kept  thinking :  *  Oh,  that  this  moment  might 
never  end  ! '  And  tremor  upon  tremor  shook  my 
frame  ;  quite  limp  I  hung  in  his  arms.  Only  once 
the  idea  darted  through  my  mind :  *  May  you  re- 
turn his  kisses  ?  '     But  I  did  not  dare  to  do  so. 

"  How  long  he  held  me  thus  I  do  not  know,  I 


204  THE  WISH. 


only  felt  my  head  suddenly  fall  heavily  against  the 
sofa-ledge.  Then  the  pain  awakened  me  as  from 
a  deep,  deep  dream. 

"  I  lay  there  motionless  and  gasped  for  breath. 
He  noticed  it  and  cried  in  alarm,  *  You  are  grow- 
ing quite  pale,  child  ;  have  you  hurt  yourself?' 

"  I  nodded,  and  remarked  that  it  was  nothing, 
and  would  soon  pass  over.  Ah  !  I  knew  too  well 
that  it  would  not  pass  over,  that  it  would  be  graven 
in  flaming  letters  upon  my  heart  and  upon  my  senses, 
that  on  many  a  long,  cold,  winter's  night  I  should 
I  find  warmth  in  the  glow  of  this  moment,  in  this 
glow  which  was  only  the  reflection  of  love  for 
airi^the^ 

"  I  knew  all  that,  and  felt  as  if  I  must  succumb 
beneath  the  weight  of  this  consciousness,  but  I 
braced  myself  up,  for  I  had  sufficiently  learnt  to 
keep  myself  under  control 

"  *  Robert,'  said  I,  *  I  want  to  g\v^  you  a  piece  of 
advice,  and  then  let  me  go,  for  I  am  tired ! ' 

"  *  Speak,  speak ! '  he  cried,  *  I  will  blindly  do 
whatever  you  wish.' 

"  Then,  as  I  looked  at  him,  it  made  me  sigh  with 
mingled  pain  and  bliss,  for  the  thought  kept  coming 


THE  WISH.  205 


to  me :  *  He  has  held  you  in  his  arms.*  I  should 
have  liked  best  of  all  to  sink  back  once  more  with 
closed  eyes  into  the  sofa-corner,  and  simulate  faint- 
ing a  little  longer,  but  I  pulled  myself  together  and 
said :  *  I  am  pretty  certain  that  Martha  will  not 
close  her  eyes  to-night,  but  be  on  the  watch  to  see 
you  go.  She  will  want  to  look  after  you  ;  and  as 
her  room  lies  towards  the  garden  she  will  either  go 
into  yours  or  the  one  adjoining.  When  you  get 
downstairs  wait  a  little  while,  and  then  do  as  if 
you    had    forgotten    something,   and    then  —  and 

then *  I  could  not  go  on,  for  all  too  mighty 

within  me  was  the  sobbing  and  rejoicing  :  *  He  has 
held  you  in  his  arms.' 

"  I  feared  that  I  should  no  longer  be  able  to 
master  my  excitement — without  a  word  of  fare- 
well I  turned  to  take  to  flight  precipitately.  When 
I  opened  the  door — Martha  stood  before  me.  She 
stood  there,  barefooted,  half-dressed,  as  pale  as 
death,  and  trembling.  She  was  unable  to  stir ; 
her  strength  probably  failed  her. 

"  And  at  the  same  moment  I  heard  behind  me 

a  glad  cry,  saw  him  rush  past  me  and  clasp  her 

tottering  form  in  his  arms. 
14 


2o6  THE  WISH. 


"*  Thank  God,  now  I  have  you  !  *  That  was  the 
last  I  heard ;  then  I  fled  to  my  room  as  if  pursued 
by  furies,  locked  and  bolted  everything,  and  wept, 
wept  bitterly. 


"  Over  the  days  that  now  followed,  with  their 
crushing  blows  of  fate,  with  their  lingering  sorrow, 
I  will  pass  with  rapid  stride.  In  them  I  became 
matured:  I  became  a  woman. 

"  Eight  months  after  that  night  papa  was  carried 
home  on  a  waggon-rack.  He  had  fallen  from  his 
horse  and  sustained  grave  internal  injuries.  Three 
days  later  he  died.  In  the  misery  that  now  beset 
the  household,  I  was  the  only  one  who  kept  a  clear 
head.  Martha  broke  down  feebly,  and  mama — 
oh,  our  poor  dear  mama !  She  had  been  sitting 
for  so  many  years  comfortably  and  placidly  in  the 
chimney-corner,  knitting  stockings  and  chewing 
fruit-jujubes  the  while,  that  she  would  not  and 
could  not  realise  that  it  must  be  different  now. 
She  spoke  not  a  single  word,  she  hardly  shed  a 
tear,  but  internally  the  sore  spread,  and  even  had 
the  brain   fever,  which   attacked   her   four  weeks 


THE  WISH,  207 


later,  spared    her,   her   sorrow   would    still    have 
broken  her  heart. 

**  There,  now,  those  two  lay  in  the  churchyard, 
and  we  two  orphans  were  left  helpless  in  our  deso- 
late home,  and  waited  for  the  time  when  we  should 
be  driven  forth.  I,  for  my  part,  knew  which  way 
my  path  lay,  and  knew  that  the  future  would  have 
nothing  to  offer  me  but  the  hard  bread  of  service  ; 
I  did  not  despair  and  did  not  quarrel  with  my  fate. 
I  knew  that  I  possessed  sufficient  strength  and 
pride  to  hold  my  own  even  among  strangers,  but 
it  was  for  Martha — who  now  less  than  ever  could 
dispense  with  love  and  consolation  —  that  I 
trembled. 

"  Her  marriage  still  lay  in  the  far  distance ; 
Robert  must  not  let  her  wait  much  longer  or  she 
might  easily  waste  away  in  her  misery  and  one 
morning  silently  die  out  like  a  little  lamp  in  which 
the  oil  is  consumed. 

"  I  was  not  deceived  in  him.  To  the  funerals  he 
had  not  been  able  to  come  ;  but  his  words  of  con- 
solation had  been  there  at  all  times,  and  had  helped 
Martha  over  the  most  trying  hours.  For  me,  too, 
there  was  sometimes  a  crumb  of  comfort,  and  I 
eagerly  seized  upon  it  like  one  starving. 


2o8  THE  WISH. 


"  One  day  he  himself  arrived.  *  Now  I  have 
come  to  fetch  you  home,'  he  cried  out  to  Martha. 
She  sank  upon  his  breast  and  there  wept  her  fill. 
The  happy  creature  !  I  meanwhile  crept  away  into 
the  darkest  arbour,  and  wondered  whether  my  heart 
would  ever  find  a  home  prepared  for  it,  where  it 
might  take  refuge  in  hours  of  trouble  or  hours  of 
happiness  !  I  very  well  felt  that  these  were  idle 
dreams,  for  the  only  place  in  the  world — in  short, 
a  feeling  of  defiance  awoke  within  me,  of  bitter- 
ness so  great,  so  galling  to  my  whole  nature,  that  I 
harshly  and  gloomily  fled  my  dear  ones*  embrace, 
and  grew  cold  and  reserved  in  solitary  sadness. 

"  I  was  to  go  with  them,  was  to  share  the  rem- 
nant of  happiness  that  still  remained  for  them,  and 
to  make  a  permanent  home  for  myself  at  my 
brother-in-law's  hearth  ;  but  coldly  and  obstinately 
I  repudiated  his  offer.  '^""^        "    '         " 

"  In  vain  both  of  them  strove  to  solve  the  riddle 
of  my  behaviour,  and  Martha,  who  fretted  because 
none  of  her  happiness  was  to  fall  to  my  share,  often 
came  at  nights  to  my  bedside  and  wept  upon  my 
neck.  Then  I  felt  ashamed  of  my  hard  disposition, 
spoke  to  her  caressingly  as  to  a  child,  and  did  not 


THE  WISH,  209 


allow  her  to  leave  me  till  a  smile  of  hope  broke 
through  her  trouble. 

"  For  a  week  Robert  worked  hard  in  every  direc- 
tion to  dispose  of  our  belongings  and  find  pur- 
chasers for  them.  Very  little  remained  over  for  us  ; 
but  then  we  did  not  require  anything. 

"  Then,  quite  quietly,  the  wedding  took  place.  I 
and  the  old  head-inspector  were  the  witnesses,  and 
instead  of  a  wedding  breakfast  we  went  out  to  the 
churchyard  and  bade  farewell  to  the  newly-made 
graves,  whose  yellow  sand  the  ivy  was  beginning 
to  cover  scantily  with  thin  trails, 

"  During  the  last  weeks  I  had  been  looking  out 
for  a  suitable  situation.  I  had  received  several 
offers  ;  I  had  only  to  choose.  And  when  Robert, 
with  grave  and  solemn  looks,  placed  himself  in 
front  of  me  and  solicitously  asked,  *  What  is  to 
become  of  you  now,  child  ? '  with  a  calm  smile  I 
disclosed  to  him  my  plans  for  the  future,  so  that 
he  clapped  his  hands  in  admiration  and  cri  ed 
*  Upon  my  word  I  envy  you  ;  you  understand  how 
to  make  your  way.' 

"And  Martha  too  envied  me,  that  I  could  see  by 
the   sad   looks   which   she   fastened    on   me    and 


2IO  THE  WISH, 


Robert.  She  herself  wished  that  she  might  once 
more  have  all  my  unbroken,  youthful  strength  to 
lay  it  upon  his  altar  of  sacrifice.  I  kissed  her  and 
told  her  to  keep  up  her  spirits,  and  her  eyes  with 
which  she  looked  imploringly  up  at  Robert  said  : 
*  I  give  yon  all  that  I  am  ;  forgive  me  that  it  is  not 
more.' 

"  Next  morning  we  set  forth  ;  the  young  couple 
to  their  new  home — I  to  go  among  strangers. 


"Of  the  next  three  years  I  will  say  nothing 
,t  all.  What  I  suffered  during  that  time  in  the 
Wy  of  mortification  and  humiliation  is  graven 
with  indelible  lines  upon  my  soul  ;  it  has  finally 
Achieved  the  hardening  of  my  disposition,  and 
made  me  cold  and  suspicious  towards  every  living 
human  being.  I  have  learnt  to  despise  their 
hatred  and  still  more  their  love.  I  have  learnt 
to  smile  when  anguish  was  tearing  with  iron  grip 
at  my  soul.  I  have  learnt  to  carry  my  head 
erect,  when  I  could  have  hidden  it  in  the  dust 
for  very  shame. 

"  The  leaden  heaviness  of  dreary,  loveless  days, 


THE  WISH.  211 


the  terrible  weight  of  darkness  in  sleepless  nights, 
the  loathsome  dissonance  of  lascivious  flattery,  the 
endless,  oppressive  silence  of  strangers'  jealousy 
— with  all  these  I  became  familiar. 

"  It  was  indeed  a  hard  crust  of  bread  that  I  ate 
among  strangers,  and  often  enough  I  moistened 
it  with  my  tears. 

"The  only  comfort,  the  only  pleasure  that  re- 
mained to  me,  were  Martha's  letters.  She  wrote 
often,  at  times  even  daily,  and  generally  there 
was  a  postscript  in  Robert's  scrawling,  awkward 
handwriting.  Oh,  how  I  pounced  upon  it !  How 
I  devoured  the  words !  Thus  I  lived  through 
their  whole  life  with  them.  It  was  not  cheerful — 
no,  indeed  not !  But  still  it  was  life !  Often  the 
waves  of  trouble  closed  over  them  ;  then  both  of 
them,  strong  Robert  and  weak  Martha,  were 
defenceless  and  helpless  like  two  children,  and  I 
had  to  intervene  and  tender  advice  and  encourage- 
ment 

"  Finally,  I  had  become  so  well  acquainted  with 
their  household  that  I  could  have  recognised  the 
voice  and  face  of  each  of  their  servants,  of  every 
one  of  their  friends  and  acquaintances. 


212  THE  WISH. 


**  Aunt  Hellinger  I  hated  with  my  most  ardent 
hatred,  the  old  physician  I  loved  with  my  most 
ardent  love,  the  insipid  set  of  Philistines  who  had 
such  a  spiteful  way  of  looking  at  everything,  and 
so  exactly  reckoned  out  on  their  fingers  the 
progress  of  decay  on  Robert's  estate,  I  held  in 
iciest  contempt.  *  Oh  that  I  were  in  her  place  ! ' 
I  often  muttered  between  my  set  teeth,  when 
Martha  plaintively  described  the  little  trials  of 
their  social  intercourse,  *  how  I  would  send  them 
about  their  business,  these  cold,  haughty  shop- 
keepers !  how  they  should  crawl  in  the  dust  before 
me,  subdued  by  my  scorn  and  mockery  ! ' 

"  But  her  little  joys  I  also  shared  with  her.  I 
saw  her  ordering  and  disposing  as  mistress  in 
and  out  of  the  house,  saw  the  little  band  of 
willing  servants  around  her,  and  wished  I  could 
have  been  still  gentler  and  more  helpful  than 
she — this  angel  in  human  shape.  I  saw  her 
seated  on  the  sunny  balcony,  bending  over  her 
needlework.  I  saw  her  taking  her  afternoon  rest 
under  the  great  branches  of  the  limes  in  the 
garden.  I  saw  her,  as  she  sat  waiting  for  his 
appearance,  dreamily  gazing  out  upon  the  whirling 


THE  WISH.  213 


snow-flakes,  when,  outside,  his  deep  voice  re- 
sounded across  the  courtyard,  and  inside,  the 
coffee-machine  was  cosily  humming. 

"  Thus  I  lived  their  life  with  them,  while  for 
me  one  lonely  and  joyless  day  joined  on  to  the 
next  like  the  iron  links  of  an  endless  chain. 

"  It  was  in  the  third  year  that  Martha  con- 
fessed to  me  that  Robert's  ardent  wish  and  her 
own  silent  prayer  was  to  be  fulfilled — that  she 
was  to  become  a  mother.  But  at  the  same  time 
her  terror  grew,  lest  her  weak,  frail  body  should 
not  be  equal  to  the  trial  which  was  in  store  for 
her.  I  hoped  and  feared  w^ith  her,  and  perhaps 
more  than  she,  for  loneliness  and  distance  dis- 
torted the  visions  of  my  imagination.  Many  a 
night  I  woke  up  bathed  in  tears;  for  in  my 
dreams  I  had  already  seen  her  as  a  corpse  before 
me.  A  memory  of  my  earliest  girlhood  returned 
to  me,  when  I  had  found  her  one  day,  rigid  and 
pale,  like  one  dead,  upon  the  sofa. 

"  This  vision  did  not  leave  me.  The  nearer  the 
decisive  term  approached,  the  more  was  I  con- 
sumed with  anxiety.  I  began  to  suffer  bodily 
from  the  misgivings  of  my  brain,  and  the  strangers 


214  THE  WISH, 


among  whom  I  dwelt — I  will  not  mention  them 
by  name,  for  they  are  not  worth  naming  in  these 
pages — grew  to  be  mere  phantoms  for  me. 

"  Martha's  last  letters  sounded  proud  and  full 
of  joyful  hope.  Her  fear  seemed  to  have  dis- 
appeared ;  she  already  revelled  in  the  delights  of 
approaching  maternity. 

"  Then  followed  three  days  in  which  I  remained 
without  news,  three  days  of  feverish  anxiety,  and 
then  at  length  came  a  telegram  from  my  brother- 
in-law — *  Martha  safely  delivered  of  a  boy,  wants 
you.     Come  quickly.' 

"  With  the  telegram  in  my  hand,  I  hastened  to 
my  mistress  and  asked  for  the  necessary  leave 
of  absence.  It  was  refused  me.  I,  in  wildly 
aroused  fury,  flung  my  notice  to  quit  in  her  face, 
and  demanded  my  freedom  instantly. 

"  They  tried  to  find  excuses,  said  I  could  not  be 
spared  just  then,  that  I  must  at  least  make  up 
my  accounts,  and  formally  hand  over  my  manage- 
ment ;  the  long  and  the  short  of  it  was,  that  by 
means  of  despicable  pretexts  they  delayed  me  for 
two  days,  as  if  to  make  the  dependant,  who  had 
always  behaved  so  proudly,  feel  once  more  to  the 
full  the  degradation  of  her  humble  position. 


THE  WISH.  215 


"  Then  came  a  night  full  of  dull  stupefaction  in 
the  midst  of  the  sense-confusing  noise  of  a  railway 
carriage,  a  morning  of  shivering  expectation  spent 
amidst  trunks  and  hat-boxes  in  a  dreary  waiting- 
room,  where  the  smell  of  beer  turned  one  faint. 
Then  a  further  six  hours,  jammed  in  between  a 
commercial  traveller  and  a  Polish  Jew,  in  the 
stuffy  cushions  of  a  postchaise,  and  at  last — at 
last  in  the  red  glow  of  the  clear  autumn  evening, 
the  towers  of  the  little  town  appeared  in  view, 
near  the  walls  of  which  those  dearest  to  me — the 
only  dear  ones  I  possessed  in  the  world — had  built 
their  nest. 

"The  sun  was  setting  when  I  alighted  from 
the  postchaise,  between  the  wheels  of  which  dead 
leaves  were  whirling  about  in  little  circles. 

"With  fast  beating  heart  I  looked  about  me. 
I  thought  I  saw  Robert's  giant  figure  coming 
towards  me  ;  but  only  a  few  stray  idlers  were 
loafing  around,  and  gaped  at  my  strange  appari- 
tion. I  asked  the  conductor  the  way,  and,  relying 
for  the  rest  upon  Martha's  description,  I  set  forth 
alone  on  my  search. 

"  In  front  of  the  low  shop  doors,  groups  were 


2i6  THE  WISH, 


standing  gossiping,  and  people  out  for  a  walk 
sauntered  leisurely  towards  me.  At  my  approach 
they  stopped  short,  staring  at  me  like  at  some 
wonderful  bird ;  and  when  I  had  passed,  low 
whispers  and  giggles  sounded  behind  me.  A 
\  horror  seized  me  at  this  miserable  Philistinism. 

"  Not  until  I  saw  the  town  gate  with  its  tower- 
ike  walls  rise  up  before  me,  did  my  mind  grow 
easier.  I  knew  it  quite  well.  Martha  in  her  letters 
was  wont  to  call  it  the  'Gate  of  Hell,'  for  through 
it  she  had  to  pass  when  an  invitation  from  her 
I  mother-in-law  summoned  her  into  the  town. 

"As  I  walked  through  the  dark  vaulting,  I 
suddenly  saw  on  the  other  side  of  the  archway, 
framed  as  it  were  in  a  black  frame,  the  '  Manor ' 
before  my  eyes. 

"  It  lay  hardly  a  thousand  paces  away  from  me. 
The  white  walls  of  the  manor  house  gleamed 
across  waving  bushes,  flooded  by  the  purple  rays 
of  the  setting  sun.  The  zinc-covered  roof  glistened 
as  if  a  cascade  of  foaming  water  were  gliding  down 
over  it.  From  the  windows  flames  seemed  to  be 
bursting,  and  a  storm-cloud  hung  like  a  canopy 
of  black  curdling  smoke  over  the  coping. 


THE  WISH,  217 


**  I  pressed  my  hands  to  my  heart  ;  its  beating 
almost  took  my  breath,  so  deeply  did  the  sight 
affect  me.  For  a  moment  I  had  a  feeling  as  if  I 
must  turn  back  there  and  then,  and  hasten  away 
precipitately  from  this  place,  never  stopping  or 
staying  till  the  distance  gave  me  shelter.  All  my 
anxiety  for  Martha  was  swallowed  up  in  this 
mysterious  fear,  which  almost  strangled  me.  I 
rebuked  myself  for  being  foolish  and  cowardly, 
and,  gathering  together  all  my  strength,  I  pro- 
ceeded along  the  country  road  in  which  half-dried- 
up  puddles  gleamed  like  mirrors  in  the  cart- 
ruts.  Through  the  crests  of  the  poplars  above 
me  there  passed  a  hoarse  rustling,  which  accom- 
panied me  till  I  reached  the  courtyard  gate.  Just 
as  I  entered  it,  the  last  sunbeam  disappeared 
behind  the  walls  of  the  manor  and  the  darkness 
of  the  mighty  lime  trees,  which  spread  from  the 
park  across  the  path,  so  suddenly  enveloped  me 
that  I  thought  night  had  come  on. 

"  To  the  right  and  left  tumble-down  brickwork, 
overgrown  with  half- withered  celandine,  jutted  out 
above  ragged  thorn-bushes — the  remains  of  the 
old  castle,  upon  the  ruins  of    which  the   manor 


2i8  THE  WISH, 


house  had  been  erected.  An  atmosphere  of  death 
and  decay  seemed  to  h'e  over  it  all. 

"  I  spied  fearfully  across  the  vast  courtyard, 
which  the  dusk  of  evening  was  beginning  to  cloak 
in  blue  mists.  At  every  sound  I  started  ;  I  felt 
as  if  Robert's  mighty  voice  must  shout  a  welcome 
to  me.  The  courtyard  was  empty,  the  silence  of 
the  vesper  hour  rested  upon  it.  Only  from  one  of 
the  stable-doors  there  came  the  peculiar  hissing 
sound  which  the  sharpening  of  a  scythe  produces. 
A  scent  of  new-mown  hay  filled  the  air  with  its 
peculiarly  sweet,  pungent  aroma. 

"  Slowly  and  timidly,  like  an  intruder,  I  crept 
along  the  garden  railings  towards  the  manor  house, 
that  seemed  to  look  down  upon  me  grimly  and 
forbiddingly,  with  its  granite  pillars  and  its  weather- 
beaten  turrets  and  gables.  Here  and  there  the 
stucco  had  crumbled  away,  and  the  blackish  bricks 
of  the  wall  appeared  beneath  it.  It  looked  as  if 
time,  like  a  long  illness,  had  covered  this  venerable 
body  with  scars.  The  front  door  stood  ajar.  A 
large  dark  hall  opened  before  me,  from  which  a 
peculiar  odour  of  fresh  chalk  and  damp  fungi 
streamed   towards  me  —  through   small   coloured 


THE  WISH,  219 


glass  windows,  placed  like  glowing  nests  close 
under  the  ceiling  and  all  covered  with  cobwebs, 
a  dim  twilight  penetrated  this  space,  hardly  suf- 
ficient to  bring  into  light  the  immense  cupboards 
ranged  along  the  walls.  A  brighter  gleam  fell 
upon  a  broad  flight  of  stairs  worn  hollow,  the  steps 
of  which  rested  upon  stone  pilasters.  High  vaulted 
oaken  doors  led  to  the  inner  apartments,  but  I  did 
not  venture  to  approach  one  of  them.  They 
seemed  to  me  like  prison  gates.  I  was  still 
standing  there,  timidly  trying  to  find  my  way, 
when  the  front  door  was  torn  open  and  through 
the  wide  aperture  two  great  yellow-spotted  hounds 
rushed  upon  me. 

"  I  uttered  a  cry.  The  monsters  jumped  up  at 
me,  snuffed  at  my  clothes,  and  then  raced  back  to 
the  door,  barking  and  yellmg, 

"  *  Who  is  there  ? '  cried  a  voice,  whose  deep- 
sounding  modulations  I  had  so  often  fancied  I 
heard  in  waking  and  dreaming.  The  aperture 
was  darkened.     There  he  stood. 

"  Red  mists  seemed  to  roll  before  my  eyes.  I 
felt  as  if  my  feet  were  rooted  to  the  ground. 
Breathing  heavily,  I  leant  against  the  stair  columa 


THE  WISH, 


"  *  Who  the  deuce  is  there  ?  '  he  cried  once  more, 
while  he  vainly  tried  to  pierce  the  darkness  with 
his  eyes. 

"  I  gathered  up  all  my  defiance.  Calmly  and 
proudly,  as  I  had  bid  him  farewell  years  before, 
would  I  meet  him  again  to-day.  What  need  for 
him  to  know  how  much  I  had  suffered  since  then ! 

"  *  Olga — really — Olga — is  it  you  ?  '  The  sup- 
pressed delight  that  penetrated  through  his  words 
gave  me  a  warm  thrill  of  pleasure.  I  felt  for  a 
moment  as  if  I  must  throw  myself  upon  his  breast 
and  weep  out  my  heart  there,  but  I  kept  my 
composure. 

"*Were  you  not  expecting  me?*  I  asked,  me- 
chanically stretching  out  my  hand  to  him. 

"  Oh,  yes — of  course — we  have  been  expecting 
you  every  hour  for  the  last  two  days — that  is,  we 
began  to  think " 

"  He  had  clasped  my  hand  in  both  his,  and  was 
trying  to  look  into  my  face.  A  peculiar  mixture 
of  cordiality  and  awkwardness  lay  in  his  manner. 
It  seemed  as  if  he  were  vainly  trying  to  discover 
traces  of  his  former  good  friend  in  me. 

"  *  How  is  Martha  ?  '  I  asked. 


THE  WISH. 


"*  You  will  see  for  yourself/  he  replied.  "  I  do 
not  understand  these  things.  To  me  she  appears 
so  weak  and  so  fragile  that  I  tell  myself  it  will  be 
a  miracle  if  she  survives  it.  But  the  doctor  says 
she  is  getting  on  well,  and  I  suppose  he  must  know 
best.'* 

"  '  And  the  child  ?  '  I  asked  further. 

"  A  low,  suppressed  laugh  sounded  down  to  me 
through  the  semi-obscurity. 

"  *  The  child — h'm — the   child *  and  instead 

of  completing  his  sentence,  he  gave  the  dogs  a 
kick,  which  sent  them  tearing  out  of  the  house 
forthwith, 

"  *  Come,*  he  then  said,  *  I  will  show  you  the 
way.' 

"  We  went  upstairs,  silently,  without  looking  at 
each  other. 

"  *  You  have  grown  a  stranger  to  him  ! '  I  thought 
to  myself,  and  terror  arose  within  me,  as  if  I  had 
lost  some  long-cherished  happiness. 

" '  Wait  a  moment,'  he  said,  pointing  to  one  of 

the  nearest  doors.     *  I  should  like  to  say  a  word  to 

her  to  prepare  her ;  the  excitement,  else,   might 

hurt  her.' 
15 


222^  THE  WISH, 


"  Next  moment  I  stood  alone  in  a  dark,  high- 
vaulted  corridor,  at  the  further  end  of  which  the 
rays  of  the  departing  day  shone  in  dark  glowing 
flames,  and  cast  a  long  streak  of  light  upon  the 
shining  flags  of  the  flooring.  Undefined  sounds, 
like  the  singing  of  a  child's  voice,  floated  past  my 
ears,  when  the  draught  caught  in  the  arches. 

"A  low  cry  of  joy,  which  penetrated  to  me 
through  the  door,  made  me  start  up.  My  blood 
welled  hotly  to  my  heart :  I  felt  as  if  its  rushing 
must  choke  me.  Then  the  door  opened,  Robert's 
hand  groped  for  me  in  the  darkness.  Quite  dazed, 
I  allowed  myself  to  be  pulled  forward,  and  only 
recovered  myself  when  I  had  dropped  on  my 
knees  at  a  bedside,  burying  my  face  in  the 
pillows,  while  a  moist,  hot  hand  lovingly  stroked 
my  head.  A  feeling  of  homeliness,  soft  and\sooth- 
ing,  such  as  I  had  not  known  for  years,  cajoled  my 
senses.  I  feared  to  raise  my  eyes,  for  I  thought  it 
must  all  be  lost  to  me  again  if  I  did. 

"  Like  a  blessing  from  above  the  hand  rested  upon 
my  head.  Supreme  gratitude  filled  my  breast.  I 
seized  the  hand  which  trembled  in  mine  and  pressed 
my  lips  upon  it  long  and  passionately. 


THE  WISIL  ^223 


"  *  What  are  you  doing  there,  sister — what  are 
you  doing  ? '  I  heard  her  tired,  slightly  veiled 
voice. 

"  I  raised  myself  up.  There  she  lay  before  me, 
pale  and  thin-faced,  with  dark  hollows  round  her 
eyes,  in  which  tears  were  glistening.  Like  a  flake 
of  snow  she  lay  there,  so  delicate  and  so  white ; 
blue,  swollen  veins  were  traceable  on  her  wan  neck, 
and  on  her  forehead,  which  seemed  to  shine  as 
with  a  light  from  within,  there  stood  beads  of 
perspiration.  She  was  aged  and  w^orn  since  I  had 
last  seen  her,  and  it  did  not  seem  as  if  the  crisis  of 
the  birth  alone  had  acted  destructively  upon  her. 
But  her  smile  remained  the  same  as  of  old,  that 
loving,  comforting,  blessing-dispensing  smile,  with 
which  she  helped  every  one,  even  though  she  her- 
self might  be  utterly  helpless. 

"  *  And  now  you  will  not  go  away  again,*  she 
said,  looking  at  me  as  if  she  could  never  gaze  her 
fill ;  *  you  will  stay  with  us — for  always.  Promise 
it  me — promise  it  me  now  at  once ! ' 

"  I  was  silent.  Happiness  had  come  upon  me, 
burning  like  a  fire  from  heaven.  It  tortured  me, 
it  hurt  me. 


224  THE  WISH. 


"  *  Do  help  me  to  entreat  her,  Robert/  she  began 
anew. 

"  I  started.  I  had  entirely  forgotten  him,  and 
now  his  presence  acted  upon  me  like  a  reproach. 

"  *  Give  me  time  to  consider  it — till  to-morrow/ 
I  said,  raising  myself  up.  A  dark  presentiment 
awoke  within  me  that  here  would  be  no  abiding- 
place  for  me  for  long.  Such  happiness  would  have 
been  too  great  for  me,  unhappy  being,  whom  fate 
mercilessly  drove  among  strangers. 

"  I  saw  that  Martha  was  anxious  to  spare  my 
feelings. 

"*Till  to-morrow,  then/  she  said  softly,  and 
squeezed  my  hand  ;  *  and  to-morrow  you  wuU  have 
found  out  how  necessary  you  are  to  us,  and  that 
we  should  be  crazy  if  we  let  you  go  away  again ; 
isn't  it  so,  Robert  ? ' 

"  *  Of  course — why,  of  course  !  *  he  said,  and  with 
that  burst  into  a  laugh  which  sounded  to  me 
strangely  forced.  He  evidently  did  not  feel  com- 
fortable in  the  presence  of  us  two.  And  soon  after 
he  took  up  his  cap  and  showed  signs  of  going  off 
quietly. 

"'Won't  you  show  her  our  child?'  whispered 


THE  WISH.  225 


Martha,  and  a  smile  of  unutterable  bliss  spread 
over  her  wasted  features. 

"  *  Come/  he  said,  *  it  sleeps  in  the  next  room.' 

"  He  preceded  me.  With  difficulty  he  pushed 
his  huge  figure  through  the  half-open  door. 

"There  stood  the  cradle,  lit  up  by  the  red 
rays  of  the  setting  sun.  From  among  the  pillows 
there  peeped  a  little  copper-coloured  head,  hardly 
larger  than  an  apple.  The  wrinkled  eyelids  were 
closed,  and  in  the  little  mouth  was  stuck  one  of 
the  tiny  fists,  its  fingers  contracted,  as  if  in  a 
cramp. 

"  My  glance  travelled  stealthily  up  from  the  child 
to  its  father.  He  had  folded  his  hands.  Devoutly 
he  looked  down  upon  this  little  human  being. 
An  uncertain  smile,  half-pleased,  half-embarrassed, 
played  about  his  lips. 

"Now,  for  the  first  time,  I  was  able  to  con- 
template him  calmly.  The  purple  evening  rays 
lay  bright  upon  his  face,  and  brought  to  light, 
plainly  and  distinctly,  the  furrows  and  wrinkles 
which  the  three  last  years  had  graven  upon  it. 
Shades  of  gloomy  care  rested  upon  his  brow,  his 
eyes   had    lost   their  lustre,  and  round  about  his 


226  THE  WISH, 


mouth  a  twitching  seemed  to  speak  to  me  of  dull 
submission  and  impotent  defiance. 

"  Unutterable  pity  welled  up  within  me.  I  felt 
as  if  I  must  grasp  his  hands  and  say  to  him, 
*  Confide  in  me — I  am  strong;  let  me  share  your 
trouble.'  Then,  when  he  raised  his  eyes,  I  was 
terrified  lest  he  should  have  noticed  my  glance, 
and  hastily  kneeling  down  in  front  of  the  cradle, 
I  pressed  my  lips  upon  the  little  face,  which 
started  as  if  in  pain  at  my  touch. 

"  When  I  got  up  I  saw  that  he  had  left  the  room, 

"Martha's  eyes  shone  in  anxious  expectation  when 
she  saw  me.    She  wanted  to  hear  her  child  admired. 

"  *  Isn't  it  pretty  ?  '  she  whispered,  and  stretched 
out  her  weak  arms  towards  me. 

"  And  when  her  mother's  heart  was  satiated 
with  pride,  she  bade  me  sit  down  beside  her  on 
the  pillows  and  nestled  with  her  head  up  to  my 
knee,  so  that  it  almost  came  to  lie  in  my  lap. 

"  *  Oh,  how  cool  that  is  ! '  she  murmured,  closed 
her  eyes,  and  breathed  deeply  and  quietly  as  if 
asleep.  With  my  handkerchief  I  wiped  the  pers- 
piration from  her  forehead. 

"  She  nodded  gratefully,  and  said  :    *  I  am  just 


THE  WISH.  227 


a  little  exhausted  yet,  and  my  limbs  feel  as  if 
they  were  broken  ;  but  I  hop^'to  be  able  to  get 
up  again  to-morrow,  and  look  after  the  household/ 

"  *  For  heaven's  sake,  what  are  you  dreaming 
of?'  I  cried,  horrified. 

"  She  sighed.  *  I  must — I  must.  It  does  not 
let  me  rest.' 

"  *  What  does  not  let  you  rest  ?  * 

"She  did  not  answer,  and  then  suddenly  she 
began  to  weep  bitterly. 

"  I  calmed  her,  I  kissed  the  tears  from  her  lashes 
and  cheeks,  and  implored  her  to  pour  out  her 
heart  to  me.  *  Are  you  not  happy  ?  Isn't  he 
good  to  you  ? ' 

"  *  He  is  as  good  to  me  as  God's  mercy  ;  but — 
I  am  not  happy — I  am  wretched,  sister;  so 
wretched  that  I  cannot  describe  it  to  you.' 

"  *  And  why,  in  all  the  world  ? ' 

"  *  I  am  afraid  ! ' 

«' Of  what?' 

"  *  That  I — make  him  unhappy  ;  that  I  am  not 
the  right  one  for  him.' 

"  A  sudden  icy  coldness  ran  through  me.  It 
seemed  to  emanate  from  her  body  upon  mine. 


228  THE  WISH, 


"  *  You  see,  you  feel  it  too  ! '  she  whispered, 
and  looked  up  at  me  with  great  frightened  eyes. 

"  *  You  are  foolish/  I  said,  and  forced  myself  to 
laugh  ;  but  the  chillness  did  not  leave  my  limbs. 
A  dark  suspicion  told  me  that  perhaps  she  might 
be  right     But  now  it  was  for  me  to  comfort  her ! 

"  *  However  could  you  give  way  to  such  silly 
self-torture  ?  '  I  cried.  *  Does  not  his  behaviour  at 
all  times  prove  to  you  how  wrong  you  are  ?* 

"  *  I  know,  what  I  know,'  she  answered,  softly  ; 
with  that  obstinacy  of  endurance  which  is  given  as 
a  weapon  to  the  weak.  *  And  what  I  am  now  telling 
you,  does  not  date  from  to-day — the  fear  is  years 
old  ;  I  had  it  in  my  heart  already  before  I  was 
engaged  to  him,  and  I  quite  well  knew  at  that 
time  why  I  refused  him — for  very  love ! ' 

"  *  Martha,  Martha  ! '  I  cried,  reproachfully  ;  *  it 
seems  to  me  that  you  concealed  a  great  deal  from 
me.' 

"  *  At  that  time  I  did  tell  you  everything,'  she 
replied.  *  You  only  would  not  believe  me ;  you 
wanted  to  make  me  happy  by  force,  and  later — 
why  should  I  say  anything  ?  On  paper  everything 
sounds   so   different   from   what  one  means ;  you 


THE  WISfi,  229 


might  even  have  thought  you  discovered  a  re- 
proach against  him  or  even^gainst  yourself,  and 
naturally  I  could  not  risk  such  a  misunderstanding 
growing  up.  My  misery  already  began  on  the 
first  day  when  we  arrived  here.  I  saw  how  he 
and  his  mother  fell  out,  and  a  voice  within  me 
cried :  "  You  are  the  cause  of  it."  I  saw  how 
he  grew  sadder  and  gloomier  from  day  to  day,  and 
again  and  again  I  said  in  my  heart :  "  You  are 
the  cause  of  it."  At  nights  I  lay  awake  at  his 
side,  and  tortured  myself  with  the  thought :  why 
are  you  so  dull  and  so  depressing,  and  why  can 
you  do  nothing  but  cling  to  him  weeping,  and 
suffer  doubly  when  you  see  him  suffering?  Why 
have  you  not  learnt  to  greet  him  with  a  song  as 
soon  as  he  comes  in,  and  with  a  laugh  to  kiss 
away  the  wrinkles  from  his  brow  ?  And  more 
than  this.  Why  are  you  not  proud,  and  strong, 
and  wise,  and  why  can  you  not  say  to  him :  Take 
refuge  with  me,  when  you  are  fainthearted — from 
me  you  shall  derive  new  strength,  and  I  will  take 
care  that  you  do  not  stumble.  This  is  how  you 
would  have  done,  sister — no — do  not  contradict 
me ;  often  enough  I  have  imagined  how  you  would 


230  THE  WISH, 


have  stood  there  with  your  tall  figure,  and  would 
have  opened  out  your  arms  to  him  so  that  he 
might  seek  shelter  within  them,  like  in  a  harbour 
where  storms  do  not  dare  to  enter.  .  .  .  But  look 
at  7nel — and  she  cast  a  pitiable  glance  at  her  poor, 
delicate  frame,  the  haggard  outlines  of  which 
were  traceable  beneath  the  coverlet — *  would  it  not 
sound  ridiculous  if  I  were  to  say  anything  of  the 
sort  ?  I,  who  am  almost  submerged  in  his  arms, 
so  small  and  weak  am  I, — I  am  only  here  to  seek 
shelter  ;  to  give  shelter  is  not  in  my  power.  .  .  . 
Do  you  see  ;  all  this  I  have  thought  out  in  the 
long,  dark  nights,  and  have  grown  more  and  more 
despondent.  And  in  the  mornings  I  forced  myself 
to  laugh,  and  tried  to  pass  for  a  sort  of  cheerful, 
happy  little  bird,  for  this  role,  I  thought  to  myself, 
is  the  most  suitable  one  for  you,  and  is  most  likely 
to  please  him  ;  but  song  and  laughter  stuck  in  my 
throat,  and  I  daresay  he  could  see  it  too,  for  he 
smiled  pitifully  to  it  all,  so  that  I  felt  doubly 
ashamed.' 

"  She  stopped  exhausted,  and  hid  her  face  in  my 
dress,  then  she  continued  : 

"  *  And  as  that  would  not  do,  I  tried  at  least  to 


THE  WISH,  231 


compensate  him  in  other  ways.  You  know  that 
all  my  life  I  have  toiled  and  moiled,  but  never 
have  I  worked  so  hard  as  in  these  three  years. 
And  when  I  felt  myself  growing  faint  and  my 
knees  threatened  to  give  way  under  me,  the 
thought  spurred  me  on  again  :  "Show  that  at  least 
you  are  of  some  good  to  him  ;  do  not  ever  let 
him  become  conscious  of  how  little  he  possesses 
in  you.  .  .  .  But  of  what  avail  is  it  all !  My 
efforts  are  not  the  least  good.  Everything  goes 
topsy-turvy  all  the  same,  as  soon  as  ever  I  turn 
my  back.  I  am  constantly  m  terror  lest  one 
day  my  management  should  no  longer  suffice 
him." 

"  Thus  the  poor  creature  lamented,  and  I  felt 
positively  frightened  at  so  much  misery. 

"  *  Listen,  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  you,*  she 
begged  at  last,  and  clutched  my  hands  ;  *  do  try 
and  sound  him  as  to  whether  he  is — is  satisfied 
with  me,  and  then  come  and  tell  me.' 

"I  drew  her  to  me;  I  lavished  loving  epithets 
upon  her,  and  endeavoured  to  soothe  away  her 
fear  and  trouble.  Eagerly  she  drank  in  every  one 
of  my  words  ;  her  feverishly  glowing  eyes  hung 


232  THE  WISH. 


spellbound  upon  my  lips,  and  from  time  to  time  a 
feeble  sigh  escaped  her. 

"  *  Oh,  if  I  had  always  had  you  near  me !  *  she 
cried,  stroking  my  hands.  But  then  a  fresh  idea 
seemed  to  make  her  despondent  again.  I  urged 
her,  but  she  would  not  put  it  into  words,  until  at 
length  it  came  out  with  stuttering  and  stammering. 

"  *  You  will  do  everything  a  thousand  times 
better  than  I  ;  you  will  show  him  what  he  might 
have  had,  and  what  he  has.  Through  you  he  will 
finally  realise  what  a  miserable  creature  I  am.' 

**  I  was  alarmed  ;  then  I  felt  plainly :  my  dream 
of  possessing  a  home  was  already  dreamed  out. 
How  could  I  remain  in  this  place,  when  my  own 
sister  was  consuming  herself  with  jealous  anxiety 
on  my  account  ?  *^^ 

"  She  felt  herself  that  she  had  pained  me ; 
stretching  up  her  thin  arms  to  my  neck,  she  said  : 
*You  must  not  misunderstand  me,  Olga.  What 
I  feel  is  not  jealousy;  I  am  so  little  jealous,  that 
I  have  no  more  ardent  wish  than  that  you  two 
should  become  united  after  my  death,  and  ' 

"*  After  your  death!'  I  cried,  in  horror.  'Martha, 
you  are  sinning  against  yourself ! ' 


THE  WISH.  233 


"  She  smiled  in  mournful  resignation. 

"  *  I  know  that  better  than  you/  she  said.  *  My 
vital  strength  has  been  broken  for  a  long  time. 
The  long  waiting  in  those  days  already  undid  me. 
Now,  of  course,  I  thought  that  with  this  birth  all 
would  be  nicely  at  an  end,  and  that  is  why  I 
longed  so  for  you,  because  I  wanted  first  to 
arrange  everything  clearly  between  you  two.  But, 
however  things  may  turn  out,  it  won't  be  long 
before  I  have  to  give  in  and  die,  and  before  then  I 
want  to  feel  sure  that  I  am  leaving  him  and  the 
child  in  good  keeping.* 

"  I  shuddered,  and  then  a  sudden  lassitude  came 
over  me.  I  felt  as  if  I  must  throw  myself  down  at 
the  bedside  and  weep,  and  weep — weep  my  very 
heart  out.  Then  from  the  next  room  came  the 
crying  of  the  child,  which  had  woke  up  and  wanted 
its  nurse.  I  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  bethought 
myself  of  the  duty  which  was  imposed  upon 
me. 

"  *  Do  you  hear,  Martha  ?  *  I  cried.  *  You  are 
ready  to  despair  when  Heaven  has  bestowed  on 
you  the  greatest  blessing  that  a  woman  can  know } 
Through   your   child   you   will    raise  yourself  up 


234  THE  WISH, 


anew ;  its  young  life  will  also  bring  new  strength 
to  yours/ 

"  Her  eyes  shone  for  an  instant,  then  she  sank 
back  and  smilingly  closed  her  lids.  The  feeling 
of  motherhood  was  the  only  one  capable  of  wing- 
ing her  hope. 

"  Once  more  she  opened  her  lips,  and  murmured 
something.  I  bent  down  to  her,  and  asked  :  *  What 
is  it,  sister  ?  ' 

"  '  I  should  like  to  be  of  some  use  in  the^world,* 
she  said  with  a  sigh,  and  with  this  thought  she 
fell  asleep. 

"  It  had  grown  pitch  dark  when  Robert  entered 
the  room.  In  sudden  fright  I  started  up.  A 
feeling  seized  me  as  if  I  must  hide  away,  and  flee 
from  him  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  :  *  He  must  not 
find  you  ;  he  shall  not  find  you  ! '  a  voice  within 
me  cried.  My  cheeks  were  flaming,  and  a  vague 
fear  arose  in  me  lest  their  tell-tale  glow  might 
gleam  through  the  darkness. 

*^  He  approached  the  bed,  listened  for  a  while  to 
Martha's  quiet  breathing,  and  then  said  softly : 
*  Come,  Olga  !  You  are  tired  ;  eat  something,  and 
go  to  rest,  too.' 


THE  WISH.  235 


"  I  should  have  liked  to  remonstrate,  for  I  was 
afraid  of  being  alone  with  him  ;  but  in  order  not 
to  wake  my  sleeping  sister,  I  obeyed  silently. 

"The  dining-room  was  a  vast,  whitewashed 
apartment,  packed  full  of  old-fashioned  furniture, 
which  kept  guard  along  the  walls  like  crouching 
giants.  Under  the  hanging-lamp  stood  a  table 
with  two  covers  laid. 

"  *  I  let  the  household  finish  their  meal  first,'  said 
Robert,  turning  towards  me,  *  for  I  did  not  want 
to  bother  you  with  strange  faces.'  With  that  he 
threw  himself  heavily  into  an  arm-chair,  rested  his 
chin  on  his  hand,  and  stared  into  the  salt-cellar. 

"  Why,  you  are  not  eating  anything ! '  he  said, 
after  a  while.  I  shook  my  head.  I  could  not  for 
the  life  of  me  have  swallowed  a  morsel,  though 
hunger  was  gnawing  at  my  entrails.  The  sight  of 
him  positively  paralysed  me. 

"  Renewed  silence. 

"  *  How  do  you  find  her  ? '  he  asked  at  length. 

"  *  I  do  not  know,'  said  I,  speaking  by  main 
force,  *  whether  I  ought  to  be  pleased  or  anxious  ! ' 

"  *  Why  anxious  ?  '  he  asked,  quickly,  and  in  his 
eyes  there  gleamed  an  indefinite  fear. 


236  THE  WISH, 


"  *  She  tortures  herself ' 

"  A  look  of  rapid  understanding  flew  across  to 
me,  a  look  which  said :  *  Do  you  also  know  that 
already  ?  Then  he  raised  his  fist,  stretched  him- 
self and  sighed.  His  bushy  hair  had  fallen  over 
his  forehead.  The  bitter  lines  about  his  mouth 
grew  deeper. 

"I  was  alarmed — alarmed  at  myself.  Did  not 
what  I  had  just  said  sound  like  an  accusation 
against  Martha ;  did  it  not  provoke  an  accusation 
against  her? 

"*She  loves  you  much  too  much/  I  replied, 
biting  my  lips.  I  knew  I  should  pain  him,  and 
I  meant  to  do  so. 

"  He  started  and  looked  at  me  for  a  while  in 
open  astonishment ;  then  he  nodded  several 
times  to  himself  and  said,  *  You  are  right  with 
your  reproach,  she  does  love  me  much  too 
much.' 

"Then  I  should  already  have  liked  to  ask  his 
forgiveness  again.  Surely  he  did  not  deserve  my 
malice!  His  soul  was  pure  and  clear  as  the 
sunlight,  and  it  was  only  within  me  that  there 
was   darkness.     I   felt   as   if  I    must   choke  with 


THE  WISH.  237 


suppressed  tears.  I  saw  that  I  could  not  contain 
myself  any  longer,  and  rose  quickly. 

"*  Good-night,  Robert/  I  said,  without  giving 
him  my  hand  ;  *  I  am  overtired — must  go  to  bed 
— leave  me — one  of  the  servants  will  show  me 
my  way.     Leave  me — I  tell  you  !  * 

"  I  screamed  out  the  last  words  as  if  in  anger, 
so  that  he  stopped  perturbed.  In  the  cool,  semi- 
obscure  corridor  1  began  to  feel  calmer.  For  a 
time  I  walked  up  and  down  breathing  heavily, 
then  I  fetched  one  of  the  maids  to  show  me 
the  way 

"*  Mistress  arranged  everything  in  the  room 
herself  yet,  and  gave  orders  that  no  one  was  to 
touch  it.     There  is  a  letter,  too,  for  you,  miss.' 

"  When  I  was  alone,  I  held  survey.     My  good, 

dear  sister!     She  had   faithfully  remembered   my 

slightest   wishes,   every   one   of    my   little    habits 

of    formerly,   and    had    thought    out    everything 

that  could   make  my  room  as  cosy  and  homely 

as  possible.     Nothing  was  wanting  of  the  things 

which    I    prized    in    those    days.     Over    the    bed 

hung  a  red-flowered  curtain  exactly  like  the  one 

beneath   the   hangings   of  which  I  had   dreamed 
16 


238  THE  WISH. 


my  first  girlish  dreams  ;  on  the  window-sill  stood 
geraniums  and  cyclamen,  such  as  I  had  always 
tended,  on  the  walls  hung  the  same  pictures 
upon  which  my  glance  had  been  wont  to  rest  at 
waking,  on  the  shelves  stood  the  same  books 
from  which  my  soul  had  derived  its  first  food  of 
love. 

"  *  Iphigenia,'  which  in  those  bright  calm  days 
had  been  my  favourite  poem,  lay  open  on  the 
table.  Ah,  good  heavens !  how  long  it  already 
was  since  I  had  read  in  it,  for  how  long  already 
had  I  passed  it  by,  because  the  calm  dignity  of 
the  holy  priestess  pained  my  soul. 

"  Between  the  leaves  was  placed  the  letter  of 
which  the  girl  had  told  me.  A  gentle  presenti- 
ment, a  presentiment  of  new,  undeserved  love 
came  over  me  as  I  tore  open  the  envelope  and 
read  : — 

"  *  My  Darling  Sister, — When  you  enter  this 
room  I  shall  not  be  able  to  bid  you  welcome. 
I  shall  then  be  lying  ill,  and  perhaps  even  my 
lips  will  be  closed  for  ever.  You  will  find  every- 
thing as  you  used  to  have  it  at  home.     It  has 


THE  WISH,  239 


been  prepared  for  you  a  long  time  already — 
everything  was  awaiting  you.  Whether  sorrow  or 
joy  may  attend  you  here,  lie  down  to  rest  in 
peace  and  fall  asleep  with  the  consciousness 
that  you  have  entered  your  home.  Try  and 
learn  to  love  Robert  as  he  will  learn  to  love 
you.  Then  all  must  turn  out  well  yet,  whether 
God  leaves  me  with  you  or  takes  me  to  Himself 
**  ^  Your  sister 

" '  Martha.' 

"  It  was  nothing  new  that  she  said  to  me  here, 
and  yet  this  touchingly  simple  proof  of  her  love 
took  such  powerful  hold  of  me,  that  at  the  first 
moment  I  only  had  the  one  feeling,  that  I  must 
rush  to  her  bedside  and  confess  to  her  how  un- 
worthy was  the  being  to  whom  she  offered  the 
shelter  of  her  heart  and  home. 

"  For  I  was  no  longer  in  doubt :  the  ill-fated 
passion  which  I  believed  I  had  uprooted  from 
my  soul,  had  once  more  profusely  sprung  into 
growth ;  the  wounds,  healed  up  long  ago,  had 
opened  anew  at  the  first  sight  of  him ;  I  felt 
as  if  my  warm  blood  were  gushing  out  from  them 


240  THE  WISH, 


in  streams.  Hushing-up  and  concealment  were 
no  longer  possible ;  the  vague  charm  of  dawning 
impressions,  the  sweet  abandon  to  the  intoxication 
of  youth,  were  things  of  the  past ;  the  bare, 
glaring  light  of  matured  knowledge,  the  rigid 
barriers  of  strict  self-restraint  had  taken  their 
place.  Yes,  I  loved  him,  loved  him  with  such 
ardour,  such  pain,  as  only  a  heart  can  love  which 
has  been  steeled  by  the  glow  of  hatred  and 
suffering.  And  not  since  to-day,  not  since  yester- 
day !  I  had  grown  up  with  this  love,  I  had  clung 
to  it  in  secret  heart's  desire,  my  whole  being  had 
derived  its  strength  from  it,  with  it  I  stood  and 
fell,  in  it  lay  my  life  and  my  death. 

"  What  did  I  care  whether  he  deserved  it, 
whether  he  understood  me !  He  was  not  intended 
to  understand  it.  And  not  he,  it  was  I  who  must 
gain  a  right  to  this  love.  I  knew  too  well  at  this 
hour  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  banish  it  from 
my  heart.  The  question  was  to  submit  to  it,  as 
one  subnsits  to  eternal  fate ;  but  it  must  not 
become  a  sin.  It  should  live  on  purely,  in  a  pure 
heart. 

"  And  surely  I  had  not  been  called  in  vain  to 


THE  WISH,  241 


this  house !  A  mission,  a  great  holy  mission 
awaited  me.  Martha  should  perceive  forthwith 
that  a  beneficent  genius  was  watching  over  her 
home.  Through  me  she  should  learn  actively 
to  utilise  the  love  by  which  she  was  consumed, 
for  the  good  of  her  loved  one ;  through  me  her 
courage  should  be  revived  and  her  soul  receive 
new  strength.  How  I  would  support  and  comfort 
her  in  dark  despondent  hours  !  How  I  would  force 
myself  to  laugh  when  a  tearful  mood  troubled 
the  atmosphere  !  How  I  would  banish  the  clouds 
from  their  gloomy  brows  with  daring  jests,  and 
anxiously  take  care  that  there  should  always 
remain  a  last  little  remnant  of  sunshine  within 
these  walls! 

"  My  life  should  pass  away  void  of  desire,  happy 
only  in  the  happiness  of  my  loved  ones,  discreet, 
resigned  and  faithful.  I  need  no  longer  seek  to 
avoid  Iphigenia's  image,  for  the  holy  and  dignified 
office  of  priestess  was  awaiting  me  also. 

"  With  this  pious  thought  the  revolt  in  my  soul 
disappeared  ;  with  it  I  fell  asleep. 

"When  I  awoke  on  the  first  morning,  I  felt 
contented,  almost  happy,     A  holy  calm  had  come 


242  THE  WISH. 


over  me,  such  as  I  had  not  known  since  time 
immemorial.  I  knew  that  henceforth  I  should 
not  have  to  fear  even  meeting  him, 

"  Martha  was  still  asleep.  When  I  looked 
through  the  chink  of  the  door  into  her  room, 
I  saw  her  lying  with  her  head  thrown  far  back 
on  the  pillow,  and  heard  her  short  heavy 
breathing. 

"  I  crept  away,  quite  easy  in  my  mind,  to  take 
up  my  office  as  housekeeper  forthwith. 

"  *  She  shall  no  longer  work  herself  to  death,' 
I  said  to  myself,  and  rejoiced  in  my  heart.  I 
spent  fully  an  hour  going  the  round  of  the 
premises,  during  which  I  formally  took  the 
management  into  my  hands.  The  old  house- 
keeper showed  herself  willing,  and  the  servants 
treated  me  with  respect.  I  should  anyhow  soon 
have  enforced  it  for  myself. 

"  At  the  breakfast-table  I  met  Robert.  A  slight 
palpitation,  which  overcame  me  on  entering,  ceased 
forthwith  when  I  bethought  myself  of  my  yester- 
day's vow.  Calmly,  firmly  looking  into  his  ^y^s^ 
I  stepped  up  to  him  and  gave  him  my  hand. 

"  *  Is  Martha  still  asleep  ?  '  I  asked. 


THE  WISH.  243 


**  He  shook  his  head.  *  I  have  sent  for  the 
doctor/  he  said,  *  she  has  passed  a  bad  night — 
the  excitement  of  seeing  you  again  seems  not  to 
have  done  her  good/ 

"  I  felt  somewhat  alarmed  ;  but  my  great  resolve 
had  so  filled  me  with  peace  and  happiness,  that  I 
would  not  give  way  to  fear. 

"  *Will  you  help  yourself?'  I  asked,  *I  should 
meanwhile  like  to  look  after  her.' 

"  When  I  entered  her  room,  I  found  her  still 
lying  in  the  same  position  in  which  I  had  left  her 
early  in  the  morning,  and  as  I  approached  the  bed, 
I  saw  that  she  was  staring  up  at  the  ceiling  with 
wide-opened  eyes. 

"  I  called  out  her  name  in  terror ;  then  a  feeble 
smile  came  over  her  face,  and  feebly  she  turned 
towards  me  and  looked  into  my  eyes. 

"  *  Are  you  not  feeling  well,  Martha  ? ' 

"  She  shook  her  head  wearily,  and  drew  up  her 
fingers  slightly.  That  meant  to  say:  'Come  and 
sit  by  me  1  * 

"  And  when  I  had  taken  her  head  in  my  arm 
a  shudder  suddenly  ran  through  her  whole  body. 
Her  teeth  chattered  audibly :  *  Give  me  a  warm 


244  •  THE   WISH. 


cover/  she  whispered,  *  I  am  shivering  so.'  I  did 
as  she  bade  me,  and  once  more  sat  down  at  her 
side.  She  clutched  my  hands,  as  if  to  warm  her- 
self by  them. 

"  *  Have  you  slept  well  ?  '  she  asked,  in  the  same 
hoarse  falsetto  voice  which  was  quite  strange  to 
me  in  her.  I  nodded,  and  felt  a  hot  sense  of 
shame  burn  within  me.  What  was  my  grand 
unselfish  resolve,  compared  with  this  sort  of  noble 
self-forgetfulness,  which  was  evident  in  every  act, 
however  great  or  small,  and  was  inspired  by  the 
same  love  for  everything  ?  And  I  even  prided 
myself  on  my  lofty  sentiments,  conceited  egotist 
that  I  was. 

"  *  How  did  you  like  the  arrangement  of  your 
room  } '  she  asked  once  more,  while  a  gleam  of 
slight  playfulness  broke  from  her  mild,  sad  eyes. 

"  In  lieu  of  answer,  I  imprinted  a  grateful, 
humble  kiss  upon  her  lips. 

"  *  Yes,  kiss  me  !  Kiss  me  once  more ! '  she 
said.  *  Your  mouth  is  so  nice  and  hot,  it  warms 
one's  body  and  soul  through.'  And  again  she 
shivered  with  cold. 

"  A  little  later  Robert  came  in. 


THE  WISH,  '  245 


"  *  Get  yourself  ready,  my  child/  he  said,  stroking 
Martha's  cheeks,  *  our  uncle,  the  doctor,  is  here.* 

"  Then  he  beckoned  to  me  and  I  followed  him 
out  of  the  room.  By  the  cradle  of  the  new-born 
babe  I  found  an  old  man,  with  a  grey  stubbly 
beard,  a  red  snub  nose,  and  a  pair  of  clever,  sharp 
eyes,  with  which  he  examined  me  smilingly 
through  his  shining  spectacles. 

"  *  So  this  is  she  ?  *  he  said,  and  gave  me  his 
hand.  My  blood  rushed  to  my  heart ;  at  the  first 
glance  I  saw  that  here  was  some  one  who  felt  as 
a  friend  towards  me,  in  whom  I  might  place 
implicit  confidence. 

"  *  God  grant  that  you  have  come  at  a  good 
moment,'  he  continued,  '  and  we  shall  see  at  once 
if  such  is  the  case.  Take  me  to  her,  Robert ;  I 
don't  suppose  it  is  so  bad.' 

"  I  was  left  alone  with  the  nurse  and  the  child, 
which  restlessly  moved  its  little  fists  about. 

"  *  To  your  happiness  also  I  will  earn  a  claim/ 
I  thought  to  myself,  and  stroked  the  round  bare 
little  head,  on  which  a  few  hardly  visible  silky 
hairs  trembled.  Yesterday  I  had  hardly  had  a 
glance  for  the  little  being,  to-day,  as  I  gazed  at 


246  *  THE  WISH. 


it,  my  heart  swelled  with  unutterable  tenderness. 
*  Thus  much  purer  and  better  have  you  grown 
since  yesterday/  I  said  to  myself. 

"  A  long  time,  an  alarmingly  long  time  elapsed 
before  the  door  of  the  adjoining  room  opened 
again.  It  was  the  doctor  who  came  out  from  it — 
he  alone.  He  looked  stern  and  forbidding,  and 
his  jaws  were  working  as  if  he  had  something  to 
grind  between  them. 

"  *  I  have  sent  him  away,'  he  said,  *  must  speak 
to  you  alone.'  Then  he  took  me  by  the  hand 
and  led  me  to  the  dining-room,  where  the  coffee- 
machine  was  still  steaming. 

"  *  I  have  great  respect  for  you,  my  young  lady,' 
he  began,  and  wiped  the  drops  of  perspiration 
from  his  forehead ;  *  according  to  everything  I 
have  heard  about  you,  you  must  be  a  capital 
fellow,  and  capable  of  bearing  the  pain,  if  a  cer- 
tain cloven  hoof  gives  you  a  treacherous  kick.' 

"  *  Leave  the  preface,  if  you  please,  doctor/  said 
I,  feeling  how  I  grew  pale. 

"  *  Very  well !      Prefaces   are  not   to   my  taste 

either.     Your    sister' and   now,   after    all,    he 

hesitated. 


THE  WISH,  24/ 


"  *  My  sister — is — in — danger — doctor  1 '  I  had 
wished  to  prove  myself  strong,  but  my  knees 
trembled  under  me.  I  clutched  at  the  edge  of  the 
table  to  keep  myself  from  falling. 

"* That's  right — courage — courage!'  he  mut- 
tered, laying  his  hand  on  my  shoulder.  *  It  has 
come — this  unwelcome  guest — the  fever  ;  there  is 
no  getting  away  from  it  any  more.' 

"  I  bit  my  lips.  He  should  not  see  me  tremble. 
I  had  often  enough  heard  of  the  danger  of  child- 
bed fever,  even  if  I  could  not  form  for  myself  any 
idea  of  its  terrors. 

"  *  Does  Robert  know  ? '  that  was  the  first  thing 
that  entered  my  mind. 

"  He  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  scratched  his 
head.  *  I  was  afraid  he  would  lose  his  head — I 
hardly  told  him  half  the  truth.' 

"  *  And  what  is  the  whole  truth  ?  '  Standing  up 
fully  erect  I  looked  into  his  eyes. 

"  He  was  silent. 

"  '  Will  she  die  ?  ' 

"When  he  found  that  from  the  first  I  was  pre- 
pared to  face  the  worst,  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief. 
But    I    did    not   hear   his   reply,   for   after  I  had, 


248  THE  WISH. 


apparently  calmly,  uttered  the  gruesome  words,  I 
suddenly  saw  once  more  before  my  eyes,  with 
terrible  vividness,  that  vision  of  my  girlish  days, 
when  I  had  found  Martha  lying  like  a  corpse  on 
the  sofa.  I  felt  as  if  the  nails  of  a  dead  hand 
were  digging  themselves  into  my  breast — before 
my  eyes  I  saw  bloody  streaks — I  uttered  a  cry — 
then  I  felt  as  if  a  voice  called  out  to  me  : — '  Help, 
save,  give  your  own  life  to  preserve  hers  ! '  With 
a  sudden  jerk  I  pulled  myself  together ;  I  had 
once  more  found  my  strength. 

"  *  Doctor,'  I  said,  *  if  she  dies,  I  lose  the  only 
thing  I  possess  in  the  world,  and  lose  myself  with 
her.  But  as  long  as  you  can  make  use  of  me  I 
will  never  flinch.  Therefore  conceal  nothing  from 
me.     I  must  have  certainty.' 

"  *  Certainty,  my  dear  child/  he  replied,  grasping 
my  hands,  *  certainty  there  will  not  be  till  her 
convalescence  or  her  last  moments.  Even  at  the 
worst  point  there  may  always  be  a  change  for  the 
better  yet,  how  much  more  then  now,  when  the 
illness  is  still  in  its  first  stage  !  Of  course  she 
has  not  much  vital  strength  left  to  stake — 
that  is  the  saddest  part  of  it.     But   perhaps  we 


THE  WISH,  249 


shall  succeed  in  mastering  the  evil  at  its 
commencement,  and  then  everything  would  be 
won/ 

"  *  What  can  I  do  to  help  ? '  I  cried,  and 
stretched  out  my  clasped  hands  towards  him. 
*  Ask  of  me  what  you  will !  Even  if  I  could  only 
save  her  with  my  own  life,  I  should  still  have 
much  to  make  amends  for  towards  her/ 

"  He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment.  How 
should  he  have  been  able  to  understand  me  ! 


"  And  now  I  have  come  to  the  hardest  part  of 
my  task.  Since  a  week  I  keep  sneaking  round 
these  pages,  without  venturing  to  take  up  my 
pen.  Horror  seizes  me,  when  I  consider  what  is 
awaiting  me.  And  yet  it  will  be  salutary  for  me 
once  more  to  recall  to  my  memory  those  fearful 
three  days  and  nights,  especially  now,  when  some- 
thing of  a  softer,  tenderer  feeling  seems  to  be 
taking  root  in  my  heart.  Away  with  it !  Away 
with  every  cajoling  thought  which  speaks  to  me 
of  happiness  and  peace.  I  am  destined  for  soli- 
tude and  resignation,  and  if  I  should  ever  forget 


2  50  THE  WISH, 


this,  the   history  of  those  three   days  shall  once 

more  remind  me  of  it 

♦  *  *  *  * 

"When  I  pulled  my  chair  up  to  my  sister's 
bedside  to  take  up  my  post  as  nurse,  I  found  she 
had  dropped  off  to  sleep.  But  this  was  not  the 
sleep  which  invigorates  and  prepares  the  way  for 
convalescence ;  like  a  nightmare  it  seemed  to  lie 
upon  her  and  to  press  down  her  eyelids  by  force. 
Her  bosom  rose  and  fell  as  if  impelled  from  within 
and  repelled  from  without.  The  little  waxen-pale, 
blue-lined  face  lay  half  buried  in  the  pillows,  across 
which  her  scanty  fair  plaits  crept  like  small  snakes. 
I  covered  my  face  with  my  hands.  I  could  not 
bear  the  sight. 

"  The  hours  of  the  day  passed  by  .  .  .  She  slept 
and  slept  and  did  not  think  of  waking  up. 

"  From  time  to  time  I  heard  the  servants'  foot- 
steps as  they  softly  crept  past  outside — everything 
else  was  quiet  and  lonely.     Of  Robert  no  trace. 

"  At  mid-day  I  felt  I  must  ask  after  him.  They 
had  seen  him  go  out  in  the  morning  into  the  fields, 
with  his  dogs  following  him.  So  for  hours  he  had 
been  wandering  about  in  the  rain. 


THE  WISH.  251 


"  As  the  clock  struck  three  he  entered,  streaming 
wet,  with  lustreless  eyes,  and  his  damp  unkempt 
hair  matted  on  his  forehead.  He  must  have  been 
suffering  horribly.  I  was  about  to  approach  him, 
to  say  a  word  of  comfort  to  him,  but  I  did  not 
dare  to  do  so.  The  scared,  gloomy  look  which  he 
cast  towards  me,  said  distinctly  enough :  *  What 
do  you  want  of  me  ?  Leave  me  alone  with  my 
sorrow/ 

"  Clutching  at  one  of  the  bed-posts  he  stood 
there,  and  stared  down  upon  her  while  he  gnawed 
his  lips.  Then  he  went  out — silently,  as  he  had 
come. 

"  Again  two  hours  passed  in  silence  and  waiting. 
The  carbolic  vapours  which  rose  from  the  bowl 
before  me  began  to  make  my  head  ache.  I  cooled 
my  brow  at  the  window-panes,  and  unconsciously 
watched  the  play  of  the  dead  leaves  as  they  were 
whirled  up  in  little  circles  towards  the  window. 

"  It  already  began  to  grow  dark,  when  suddenly, 
outside  in  the  corridor,  was  heard  the  lamenting 
and  screaming  of  a  female  voice — so  loud,  that 
even  the  sleeper  started  up  painfully  for  a  moment. 
An  angry  flush  flew  to  my  face.     I  was  on  the 


252  THE  WISH. 


point  of  hurrying  out  in  order  to  turn  away  this 
disturber  of  peace,  but  already  at  the  opened  door 
I  came  into  collision  with  her. 

"  At  the  first  glance  I  recognised  this  red,  bloated 
face,  these  little  malicious  eyes.  Who  else  could 
it  have  been  but  she,  the  best  of  all  aunts  and 
mothers  ? 

"  '  At  length,'  a  voice  within  me  cried — *  at 
length  I  shall  stand  face  to  face  with  you  ! ' 

"  *  So  you  are  Olga,'  she  cried,  always  in  the 
same  shrill,  whining  tones,  which  seemed  to  yell 
through  the  whole  house.  *  How  do  you  do,  my 
little  dear  ?  Ah,  what  a  misfortune  !  Is  it  really 
true  ?     I  am  quite  beside  myself ! ' 

"  *  I  beg  of  you,  dear  aunt,'  said  I,  folding  my 
arms,  *to  be  beside  yourself  somewhere  else,  but 
to  modify  your  voice  in  the  sick  room.' 

"She  stopped  short.  In  all  my  life  I  shall 
never  forget  the  venomous  look  which  she  gave 
me. 

"  But  now  she  knew  with  whom  she  had  to  deal. 
She  took  up  the  gauntlet  at  once  too.  *  It  is  very 
good  of  you,  my  child,'  she  said,  and  her  voice 
suddenly  sounded   as  metallic  as  a  war-trumpet, 


THE  WISH.  253 


*  that  you  are  so  anxious  about  my  poor,  ailing 
daughter ;  but  now  you  can  go — you  have  become 
superfluous  ;  I  shall  stay  here  myself/ 

"  *  Wait ;  you  shall  soon  know  that  you  have 
found  your  match/  I  inwardly  cried  ;  and,  draw- 
ing myself  up  to  my  full  height,  I  replied,  with 
my  most  freezing  smile  :  *  You  are  mistaken,  dear 
aunt ;  every  stranger  has  been  strictly  prohibited 
from  visiting  my  sister.  So  I  must  beg  of  you 
to  withdraw  to  the  next  room/ 

"  Her  face  grew  ashy  pale,  her  fingers  twitched 
convulsively,  I  think  she  could  have  strangled 
me  on  the  spot ;  but  she  went,  and  good,  lacka- 
daisical uncle,  who  was  always  dangling  three 
paces  behind  her,  went  with  her. 

"  In  sheer  triumph  I  laughed  out  loud :  *  What 
should  you  want,  you  mercenary  souls,  in  this 
temple  of  pain  ?     Out  with  you  !  * 


"It  grew  night.     Like  a  streak  of  fire  the  last 

red  rays  of  the  setting  sun  lay  over  the  town,  the 

towers  of  which  stood  out  black  and  pointed  in 

the  glow.     For  a  long  time  I  watched  the  fiery 
17 


254  THE  WISH, 


clouds,  till  darkness  had  buried  them  also  in  its 
lap. 

"  The  clock  struck  nine.  Then  the  old  doctor 
came.  He  sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence  on  my 
chair,  stroked  my  hand  at  parting,  and  said : 
*  Continue — carbolic — all  night ! '  In  answer  to 
my  anxiously  questioning  look,  he  had  nothing 
but  a  doubtful  shrug  of  the  shoulders. 

"  From  somewhere,  two  or  three  rooms  away, 
I  heard  Robert's  voice  talking  at  the  old  man. 
This  was  the  first  sign  that  he  too  was  in  the 
proximity  of  the  sick-bed.  *  Why  ever  does  he 
stay  outside?'  I  asked  myself;  *  it  really  almost 
seems  as  if  admission  were  prohibited/ 

"  The  clock  struck  ten.  Silence  all  around. 
The  household  seemed  gone  to  rest. 

"The  wind  rattled  at  the  garden  railings.  It 
sounded  as  if  some  late  guest  wished  to  enter. 
Was  death  already  creeping  round  the  house  ? 
Was  he  already  counting  the  grains  of  sand  in 
his  hour-glass  ? 

"  Desperate  defiance  seized  me.  Without  know- 
ing what  I  did,  I  rushed  towards  the  door,  as  if  to 
throw  myself  in  the  path  of  the  threatening  demon. 


THE  WISH.  255 


"  Ill-fated  creature,  I,  that  I  did  not  suspect 
what  other  demon  sat  lurking  in  front  of  that 
one,  on  the  threshold  ! 

"A  few  minutes  later  Robert  entered.  Not  a 
word,  not  a  greeting — again  only  that  swift,  scared 
look  which  once  already  had  cut  me  to  the  quick. 
With  his  heavy,  swaying  gait  he  walked  up  to  the 
bedside,  grasped  her  hand — that  hot,  wasted  hand, 
with  its  bluish  nails — and  stared  down  upon  it. 
And  then  he  sat  down  in  the  darkest  corner, 
behind  the  stove,  and  crouched  there  for  two 
long,  long  hours. 

"  With  beating  heart  I  waited  for  him  to  address 
me,  but  he  was  as  silent  as  before. 

"  Soon  after  midnight  he  left  the  room.  For 
a  long  time  yet  I  heard  him  walking  up  and 
down  outside  in  the  corridor,  and,  at  the  muffled 
sound  of  his  tramping  footsteps,  another  night 
came  into  my  mind,  when  I  had  listened,  no  less 
trembling  in  fear  and  hope,  to  the  same  sound. 
Worlds  lay  between  then  and  now,  and  the 
young,  foolish  creature  who  had  then  hearkened 
out  into  the  darkness,  burning  with  the  desire  to 
help  and  to  sacrifice  herself,  now  appeared  to  me 


256  THE  WISH. 


like  a  strange,  radiant  being  from  some  distant, 
shining  planet 

"  The  footsteps  grew  less  distinct.  He  had  gone 
back  to  his  room. 

"  *  Will  he  return  again  ? '  I  asked  myself,  putting 
my  ear  to  the  keyhole.  *  In  any  case  he  cannot 
sleep.'  And  I  started  joyfully  when  the  sound 
once  more  increased. 

"And  then  the  thought  came  to  me,  *What 
concern  is  it  of  yours  whether  he  returns  or  not } 
Are  you  here  in  this  place  for  his  sake  ?  Is  not 
your  happiness,  your  life,  your  all,  lying  here 
before  you?' 

"  I  fell  down  by  the  bedside,  and,  covering 
Martha's  hands  with  kisses,  I  implored  her  to 
have  mercy — that  I  wanted  to  speak  to  her — that 
it  was  bursting  my  heart-strings — that  it  was  stifling 
me — that  I  should  suffocate. 

"  But  she  did  not  wake.  Doubled  up  with  pain 
she  lay  there,  a  miserable  little  heap  of  bones.  On 
her  cheek-bones  were  little  flaming  spots.  Her 
breath  panted.  Once  she  moved  her  lips  as  if  to 
speak,  but  the  words  died  away  in  a  toneless 
gurgling. 


THE  WISH,  2S7 


"  What  a  terrible  silence  all  around  !  The  clock 
ticked,  along  the  wall  by  the  casement  the  wind 
passed  softly  moaning,  and  from  the  other  room 
sounded  the  muffled  tramp  of  the  wanderer — all 
else  still. 

"And  suddenly  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  in  this 
stillness  I  heard  the  blood  in  my  own  body  seeth- 
ing and  boiling.  I  listened.  Evidently  that  was 
my  blood  rushing  wildly  through  my  veins. 

"*Why  is  its  flow  not  quiet  and  well-behaved,' 
I  asked  myself,  *  in  accordance  with  my  great 
resolve  ^  Is  not  this  sin  torn  out  with  all  its 
roots — burnt  out  by  a  thousand  purifying  fires? 
Do  I  not  stand  here  as  the  priestess,  void  of  desire, 
pure  and  blessed  ?  * 

"  And  again  I  listened !  These  are  hallucina- 
tions, I  told  myself,  and  yet  I  grew  afraid  at  the 
gushing  and  rushing,  which  seemed  to  increase 
with  every  minute.  I  saw  a  stream  which  carried 
me  away  in  its  torrents — a  stream  of  blood  !  A 
rock  with  sheer  points  jutted  out  from  it.  Thereon 
a  word  stood  written  with  flaming  letters,  the  word 
*  Bloodguiltiness.' 

"  The  footsteps  grew  louder.     I  jumped  up.  .  .  . 


258  THE  WISH, 


He  came,  seated  himself  on  the  pillow,  wiped  the 
perspiration  from  her  forehead  with  the  flat  of 
his  hand,  and  passed  his  fingers  through  her 
hair. 

"Stealthily  I  watched  him.  I  hardly  dared  to 
breathe  any  more.  His  eyes  gleamed  bloodshot  in 
their  sockets.  His  lips  were  pressed  together  in 
bitter  reproach.  He  sat  there  as  if  petrified  with 
unuttered  pain.  The  desire  to  approach  him  shook 
me  like  a  fit  of  ague.  But  when  I  was  on  the  point 
of  rising,  it  was  as  if  two  iron  fists  laid  themselves 
upon  my  shoulders  and  forced  me  back  on  to  my 
chair. 

"  At  length  I  spoke  his  name,  and  was  startled, 
so  strange,  so  weird  did  the  sound  of  my  own 
voice  appear  to  me.  He  turned  round  and  stared 
at  me. 

"*  Robert,'  I  said,  ^why  do  you  not  speak  to  me? 
You  will  feel  easier  if  you  let  some  one  else  share 
what  is  oppressing  you.* 

"Then  he  jumped  up  and  grasped  both  my 
hands.  His  touch  made  me  feel  hot  and  cold 
all  over.  But  I  forced  myself  to  keep  my  ground, 
and  firmly  looked  into  his  face. 


THE  WISH,  259 


"  *  That  is  the  first  good  word  that  you  have 
vouchsafed  me,  Olga/  he  said. 

" '  What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Robert  ? '  I 
stammered.     *  Have  I  been  unkind  towards  you  ?  ' 

" '  Only  unkind  ? '  he  repHed.  *  Like  a  stranger, 
like  an  intruder  you  have  treated  me,  and  have 
driven  me  from  the  bedside  of  my  wife.' 

"  *  Heaven  forbid  ! '  I  cry,  and  free  myself  from 
him,  for  I  feel  I  am  about  to  sink  upon  his  breast. 

"  And  he  continues,  *  Olga,  if  ever  I  did  you  any 
wrong — I  know  not  what,  but  it  must  be  so,  else 
your  look  and  manner  would  not  be  so  stern  and 
forbidding  towards  me — if  I  did  you  any  wrong, 
Olga,  it  was  not  my  fault.  I  always  meant  well 
towards  you.  I  have — you  might  always  have 
been  here  like  at  home  ;  you  need  never  have  gone 
among  strangers ;  and  in  the  presence  of  that  one 
whom  we  both  love ' 

"  Why  must  he  mention  her  name  to  me  }  A 
wild  joy  had  flamed  up  within  me  ;  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  wings  ;  then  her  name  struck  me  like  the  cut 
of  a  whip.  I  bit  my  lips  till  they  bled.  Indeed  1 
would  be  calm,  would  act  the  guardian  angel. 

"*  Robert,'  said  I,*  you  have  been  gravely  mis- 


26p  THE  WISH. 


taken  about  me.  I  never  bore  you  any  ill-will. 
Only  I  have  grown  reserved  and  defiant  among 
strangers.  You  must  have  patience  with  me — 
must  trust  me.     Will  you?' 

"  Then  it  broke  from  his  eyes  like  sunshine.  *  I 
have  so  much  to  thank  you  for  already,  Olga,'  he 
said  ;  *  how  could  I  do  otherwise  than  continue  to 
trust  you  ?  You  know,  since  that  day  when  we 
rode  together  into  the  wood,  do  you  remember?' — 
ah,  did  I  remember  indeed! — *  since  that  day  I  have 
loved  you  like  a  sister,  yes,  more  than  all  my 
sisters.  And  at  the  same  time  I  looked  up  to  you 
and  revered  you  like  my  guardian  spirit.  That  is 
indeed  what  you  have  been  to  me.  You  will  be  so 
in  future,  too,  won't  you  ?  ' 

"  I  nodded  silently,  and  pressed  both  my  hands 
to  my  bosom  ;  then,  when  he  noticed  it,  I  let  them 
drop,  but  I  staggered  back  three  paces  ;  it  was  a 
miracle  that  I  kept  myself  upright. 

"  He  stepped  up  to  me  in  alarm.  '  I  am  tired,* 
I  said,  and  forced  myself  to  smile.  *  Come,  we  will 
sit  down  ;  the  night  is  long  yet' 

"  So  we  both  sat  opposite  each  other  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed,  with  the  narrow  bedstead  between  us, 


THE  WISH.  261 


rested  our  arms  on  the  ledge,  and  looked  across  at 
Martha's  face,  which  moved  with  cramp-like  twitch- 
ings.  Her  eyelids  seemed  closed,  deep  shadows 
from  her  lashes  fell  across  her  cheeks  ;  but,  on 
bending  down,  one  could  see  the  whites  of  the 
eyes  gleaming  with  a  faint  sheen,  like  mother-of- 
pearl,  in  their  dark  sockets.  He  observed  it 
too. 

"  *  As  if  she  had  already  died,'  he  murmured,  and 
buried  his  head  in  his  hands.  *  And  if  she  dies,'  he 
continued,  *  she  will  not  die  through  the  child,  not 
through  this  wretched  fever ;  through  my  fault 
alone,  Olga,  she  will  perish  ! ' 

" *  For  God's  sake,  what  are  you  saying?  '  I  cried, 
stretching  out  my  arms  towards  him. 

"  He  nodded  and  smiled  bitterly. 

"  *  I  have  seen  it  very  well,  Olga,  all  through 
these  three  years  ;  over  and  over  again  it  is  my 
fault  First,  I  left  her  longing  and  fearing  between 
hope  and  despair  for  seven  long  years,  till  the 
strength  was  drained  in  this  way  from  her  body 
and  soul — heaven  knows  she  never  had  much  to 
spare ;  and  then  I  dragged  her  with  her  sickly 
body   and    broken    spirit    here    into   this   misery, 


262  THE  WISH, 


where  all  were  hostile  to  her,  and  those  most 
hostile  who  should  have  held  her  most  dear.  And 
I  myself ! — yes,  if  I  myself  had  been  brave  and  of 
good  cheer,  if  I  could  have  guarded  her  that  her 
foot  might  not  dash  against  any  stone,  if  I  had 
spread  sunshine  across  her  path,  then  perhaps  she 
might  have  flourished  at  my  side.  But  I  was  often 
rough  and  surly,  stormed  and  raged  in  the  house 
and  the  farm,  never  thinking  how  every  loud  word 
made  her  start,  so  that  she  already  grew  pale  if  I 
only  frowned.  Look  at  this  little  handful  of  life, 
how  it  lies  here ;  and  then  look  at  me,  the  great, 
uncouth,  coarse-grained  giant !  Sometimes  in  the 
night  when  I  woke,  I  was  afraid  lest  I  might  pos- 
sibly crush  her  in  my  arms.  And,  after  all,  I  have 
crushed  her  !  What  I  required  was  a  wife,  strong 
and ' 

"  He  stopped  short,  terrified,  and  cast  a  glance, 
which  eloquently  pleaded  for  forgiveness,  towards 
Martha's  face,  but  I  completed  his  sentence  for 
myself. 

"  When  he  had  left  the  room  a  wild  feeling  of 
joy  seized  me.  It  rushed  through  my  head  like  a 
whirlwind  ;  it  confused  my  senses  ;  my  pride,  my 


THE  WISH,  263 


defiance,  my  self-respect,  everything  seemed  to  be 
swallowed  up  in  it. 

"  The  atmosphere  of  the  sick  room  lay  heavily 
upon  me,  like  a  suffocating  cloth.  My  brain  was 
burning  with  the  carbolic  vapours  which  rose  up 
from  the  bowl  in  front  of  me.  My  breath  began 
to  fail  me. 

"  I  fled  to  the  window,  and  pressing  my  forehead 
against  the  sash,  I  drank  in  the  cold  night  air 
which  found  its  way  into  the  room  through  the 
chinks.  Morning  dawned  through  the  curtains — 
cold -grey — enveloped  in  fog.  .  .  .  Faintly  gleaming 
clouds  slowly  heaved  upwards  on  the  horizon  and 
threw  a  fallow  sheen  over  the  dripping  trees,  which 
seemed  to  have  grown  still  more  bare  overnight. 

"  What  a  night ! 

"And  how  many,  worse  than  this  one,  are  about 
to  follow  ?  What  phantoms,  begotten  of  darkness, 
born  in  horror,  will  rise  up  before  my  fevered  senses 
as  the  nights  come  on  ? 

"  Shivering,  I  crept  into  a  corner.  I  was  afraid 
of  myself. 

"  The  hours  of  the  morning  passed  away,  and  by 
degrees  I  grew  calmer.    The  memory  of  this  night, 


264  THE  WISH. 


with  its  feverish  turmoil  and  pangs  of  conscience, 
waxed  dim.  What  I  had  experienced  and  felt 
became  a  dream,  A  leaden  weariness  took  posses- 
sion of  me ;  I  closed  my  eyes  and  thought  about 
nothing. 

"  And  then  came  a  blissful  hour.  It  was  towards 
ten  o'clock  when  Martha  suddenly  opened  her 
faithful  blue  eyes  and  looked  up  at  me  consciously 
and  brightly. 

"  I  felt  as  if  God's  eye  had  turned,  full  of  pity 
and  forgiveness,  towards  me,  the  sinner.  A  pure, 
holy  joy  streamed  through  me.  I  fell  across  my 
sister's  body,  and  hid  my  face  at  her  neck. 

"In  the  midst  of  her  pain  she  began  to  smile, 
with  an  effort  placed  her  hand  upon  my  head,  and 
murmured,  with  hardly  audible  voice,  *  I  suppose  I 
have  been  giving  you  all  a  great  fright  ? ' 

"  The  breath  of  her  words  enveloped  me  like  a 
peace-bringing  chant,  and  for  a  moment  I  felt  as  if 
the  burden  at  my  heart  must  give  way — but  I  was 
unable  to  weep. 

"  *  How  do  you  feel  ? '  I  asked. 

"  *  Well,  quite  well !  *  she  replied,  *  only  the 
sheet  weighs  so  heavily  upon  me  ! ' 


THE  WISH,  265 


"  It  was  the  lightest  I  had  been  able  to  find. 
I  told  her  so  ;  then  she  sighed  and  said  she 
knew  she  was  a  fidget,  and  I  was  to  have 
patience  with  her. 

"  And  then  she  lay  again  quite  still,  and  con- 
stantly looked  at  me  as  if  in  a  dream.  At 
length  she  nodded  several  times  and  remarked  : 
*  It  is  well  thus — quite  well ! ' 

"  *  What  is  well  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Then  she  smiled  again  and  was  silent.  And 
then  the  pains  returned.  She  shook  all  over 
and  clenched  her  teeth,  but  she  did  not  utter  a 
complaint. 

"  *  Shall  I  call  for  Robert  ? '  I  asked,  for  terror 
overwhelmed  me  anew. 

"  She  nodded.  *  And  bring  the  child  too,'  she 
murmured. 

"  I  did  as  she  had  bid.  She  had  the  little 
creature  laid  on  the  bed  beside  her,  and  looked 
down  at  it  for  a  long  time.  She  also  made 
an  attempt  to  kiss  it,  but  she  was  too  weak 
to  do  so. 

"Even  before  Robert  came  she  had  relapsed 
into  her  sleep. 


266  THE  WISH. 


"  He  gave  me  a  reproachful  look,  and  remarked, 
*  Why  did  you  not  send  for  me  sooner  ? ' 

"'Believe  me,  it  is  better  thus,'  I  answered, 
Mt  would  have  excited  her  too  much  to  see 
you.' 

"*You  always  seem  to  know  what  is  best,' 
said  he,  and  went  out,  fortunately  without  notic- 
ing the  glow  which  suffused  my  face  at  his 
praise. 

"  Now  she  lay  there  again  unconscious — her 
cheeks  red,  and  her  forehead  wet  with  perspira- 
tion. And  added  to  that,  the  gruesome  play  of 
her  lips !     They  kept  on  twitching  and  smacking. 

"Towards  one  o'clock  the  doctor  came,  took 
her  temperature,  and  certified  a  diminution  of 
fever. 

"  *  That  will  go  up  and  down  many  a  time 
yet,'  he  said  ;  nor  did  he  enter  into  our  joy 
over  her  awakening.  *Do  not  speak  to  her 
when  she  regains  consciousness,'  he  urged,  *and 
above  all,  do  not  allow  her  to  speak  herself  She 
needs  every  atom  of  her  strength.' 

"Before  he  left,  he  fixed  his  eyes  on  me  for 
a  long  time,  and   shook  his  head  doubtfully.     1 


THE  WISH.  267 


felt  how  the  consciousness  of  guilt  drove  the 
blood  to  my  cheeks.  It  was  as  if  he  could  look 
me  through  and  through. 

"...  In  the   afternoon    I  had   fetched   myself 
a  book  from  my  room,  the  first   I   happened   to 
lay  my  hands  upon  and  tried  to  read  in  it ;  but' 
the  letters  danced  before  my  eyes,  and  my  head 
buzzed  as  if  it  were  full  of  bats. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  even  make 
out  the  title.  I  read  *  Iphigenia.'  Then,  seized 
by  sudden  terror,  I  flung  the  boolc  far  away  from 
me  into  a  corner,  as  if  I  had  held  a  burning  coal 
in  my  hand.  Towards  evening  Martha's  pains 
seemed  to  grow  more  intense.  Several  times 
she  cried  out  loud  and  writhed  as  if  in  a 
cramp. 

"While  I  was  busying  myself  about  her,  during 
an  attack  of  this  sort,  the  old  woman  suddenly 
stood  at  my  side.  And  as  I  looked  at  her  with 
her  venomous  glance,  with  her  studied  wringing 
of  hands,  and  the  hypocritical  droop  of  her  mouth, 
the  thought  suddenly  came  to  me — 

"  *  Here  is  one — who  is  waiting  for  Martha's 
death — who  is  wishing  for  it' 


268  THE  WISH, 


"  My  eyesight  seemed  dimmed  by  a  red  veil, 
I  clenched  my  fists — I  all  but  flung  the  accusation 
in  her  face.  And  as  I  stood  in  front  of  her, 
still  quite  petrified  by  the  thought,  she  took  hold 
of  my  arm,  and  tried,  without  much  ado,  to 
push  me  aside,  so  that  she  might  plant  herself 
at  Martha's  pillow.  Perhaps  she  hoped  to  in- 
timidate me  by  this  unceremonious  proceeding. 

"  *  Dear  aunt/  said  I,  removing  her  hand  from 
my  arm,  *  I  have  pointed  out  to  you  before 
already  that  this  is  my  place,  and  that  no  one 
in  the  world  shall  dispute  it  with  me.  I  urgently 
beg  of  you  to  restrict  your  visit  to  the  other 
rooms.' 

"  *  Indeed  ?  We  will  just  wait  and  see,  my 
little  one,'  she  screeched,  *we  will  just  ask  the 
master  of  the  house,  who  has  more  to  say  here, 
his  good  old  mother,  or  you,  vagabond  Polish 
crew  1 ' 

"  And  still  screeching,  she  departed. 

"  In  a  very  fever  of  rage  I  paced  the  room. 
Even  I  should  not  have  imagined  that  this 
sorrowing  mother  could  so  quickly  and  thoroughly 
change    back    again    into    a    fury.     It    only   re- 


h     ^     ^ THBW,SH.  .^'^^^^ 

mained   for  her  to  give  expression  to  her  inner- 
most wishes. 

"  '  Oh,  if  it  should  be  true/  I  cried,  and  horror 
possessed  me.  *  To  wish  for  Martha's  death ! 
Martha,  do  you  hear,  to  wish  for  your  death ! 
Whom  have  you  ever  hurt  ?  In  whose  way 
have  you  ever  stood  ?  Who  lives  in  the  world 
who  has  ever  received  aught  but  love  and  forgive- 
ness from  you?  If  it  were  true,  if  any  human 
being  should  really  be  so  depraved,  and  still 
wander  upon  earth  with  impunity — verily,  it  ^. 
would  make  one  despair  of  God  and  of  every-  ^ 
thing  good.' 

"  Thus   I   spoke   and   could    not   heap   enough 
shame    and    contumely   upon    the    old    woman's      , 
head. 

"  And  then  it  struck  me  that  I  had  been  talking 
myself  into  a  most  unworthy  passion. 

"  But  I  felt  easier  through  it,  I  dared  to  breathe 
more  freely,  and  when  I  saw  poor,  ill-treated 
*Iphigenia'  lying  in  the  dust,  I  went  and  picked 
it  up. 

" '  What  crime  have  I,  after  all,  committed  ? ' 

I  said  to  myself,  *  that  I  should  need  to  hide  away 
i8 


270  THE  WISH, 


from  my  ideal  ?  Have  I  done  anything  but  bring 
comfort  to  one  in  despair?  Has  a  single  look, 
a  single  word  been  exchanged,  which  my  sister 
might  not  have  seen  and  heard  ?  If  it  seethes 
and  burns  in  my  breast,  what  concern  is  that 
of  any  one,  as  long  as  I  keep  it  carefully  to 
myself? ' 

"  Thus  I  spoke  to  myself,  and  considered 
myself  almost  justified,  even  before  my  own 
conscience.     Blind  creature  that  I  was  ! 


"And  once  more  the  gloaming  came,  once 
more  the  setting  sun  cast  its  red  light  through 
the  windows. 

"  Martha's  face  was  bathed  in  a  purple  glow, 
in  her  hair  little  lights  sparkled,  and  the  hand 
that  lay  on  the  coverlet  looked  as  though  illumined 
from  within. 

"  I  drew  the  bed-screen  closer  around  her, 
so  that  the  flimmering  rays  should  not  trouble 
her. 

"  Then  I  saw  hanging  on  the  wall  a  withered 
ivy   wreath,   which    I    had   not   noticed   before,  a 


THE  WISH,  271 


wreath  such  as  I  was  wont  to  send  on  special 
occasions  for  our  parents'  graves.  Perhaps  that 
was  where  this  one,  too,  came  from.  At  the 
present  moment  it  appeared  as  if  woven  of  flames, 
everything  about  it  lived  phantastically.  And 
when  I  looked  more  closely,  it  even  seemed  to 
me  as  if  it  began  to  revolve,  and  to  emit  a 
a  cascade  of  sparks,  like  a  real  wheel  of  fire. 

"  *  Dear  me,  now  you  are  already  beginning  to 
see  visions,'  I  said  to  myself,  and  tried  to  gain 
new  strength  by  pacing  up  and  down.  But  I  felt 
so  dizzy,  that  I  was  obliged  to  hold  on  to  the 
chairs — I  gasped  for  breath. 

"  Oh,  this  smell  of  carbolic — this  sickly-sweet 
odour !  It  enveloped  my  senses,  it  dimmed  my 
thoughts,  it  spread  a  presentiment  of  death  and 
terror  all  around. 

"  Then  the  old  doctor  came,  looked  keenly 
into  my  face,  and  ordered  me  in  his  fatherly, 
gruff  manner  to  go  forthwith  into  the  open  and 
get  some  fresh  air.  He  himself  would  watch  till 
I  returned.  And  in  spite  of  my  remonstrance  he 
pushed  me  out  of  the  door. 

"  If  I  could    have  guessed   what   was   awaiting 


272  THE  WISH, 


me,  no  power  on  earth  would  have  moved  me  to 
cross  the  threshold  ! 

"Now  I  drew  a  deep  breath  as  I  stepped  out 
into  the  courtyard.  The  evening  air  refreshed 
me  like  a  cooling  bath.  The  last  gleam  of  day- 
light was  vanishing,  and  veiled  in  bluish  vapours 
the  autumn  night  sank  down  upon  the  earth. 

"The  two  hunting  dogs  sprang  towards  me, 
and  then  raced  off  towards  the  old  castle  ruins. 

"  Unconsciously  I  followed  in  their  track, 
walking  half  in  my  sleep,  for  the  atmosphere 
of  the  sick  room  was  still  acting  upon  my  senses. 

"  A  mouldering  scent  of  fading  weeds  and 
weather-beaten  stones  wafted  towards  me  from 
the  brickwork.  An  old  porch  spread  its  arch 
over  me.  I  stepped  into  the  interior.  The  walls 
towered  up  black  all  round  me,  the  dark  sky 
looked  down  upon  them  with  its  bluish  lights. 

"  Then  not  far  from  me  I  saw  a  dark  figure,  the 
outlines  of  which  I  recognised  at  once,  crouching 
among  the  loose  stones. 

"  *  Robert ! '  I  call  out,  astonished. 

"  He  jumped  up.  *  Olga  ? '  he  cried  in  answer. 
*  Do  you  bring  bad  news  ? ' 


THE  WISH,  273 


***Not  so/  say  I,  *  your  uncle,  the  doctor,  sent 

me  out,  and '  then  suddenly  I  feel    as  if  the 

ground  were  giving  way  beneath  my  feet. 

"*Take  care!'  I  hear  his  warning  voice,  but 
already  I  am  sinking,  together  with  the  crumbling 
stones,  about  a  man's  length  down  into  the  dark- 
ness. 

"*For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  stir!'  he  shouts 
after  me,  *  else  you  will  fall  still  further  down.' 

"  Half-dazed,  I  lean  against  the  side  of  the  pit. 
At  my  feet  gleams  a  narrow  strip  of  earth,  on 
which  I  am  standing ;  beyond  that  it  goes  down 
into  black,  unfathomable  depths. 

"  I  see  him  near  me,  climbing  down  after  me 
slowly  and  carefully  on  the  steps  of  a  flight  of 
stairs  as  it  seems. 

"  *  Where  are  you  ? '  he  shouts,  and  at  the  same 
I  feel  his  hand  groping  for  me. 

"Then  I  throw  myself  towards  him,  and  cling  to 
his  neck.  At  the  same  moment  I  feel  myself  lifted 
hig^h  up  and  resting  upon  his  breast.  It  appeared 
to  me  as  if  my  veins  had  been  opened,  as  if  in 
delightful  lassitude  I  felt  my  warm  life's  blood 
flowing  away  over  me. 


274  THE  WISH, 


"  His  breath  wafted  hotly  into  my  face.  For  a 
moment  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  he  had  softly  kissed 
my  forehead.  .  .  .  Then  we  returned  to  the  manor 
house  without  speaking.  I  moved  away  from  his 
side  as  far  as  I  could,  but  in  my  heart  was  the 
jubilant  thought,  *  He  has  held  me  in  his  arms.' 

"On  the  threshold  of  the  sick  room  the  old 
physician  came  towards  us,  gave  us  both  his  hands 
and  said,  ^  She  is  keeping  up  better,  children,  than 
I  had  expected.' 

"  Within  my  heart  was  rejoicing,  *  He  has  held 
me  in  his  arms.' 


"  And  now  that  night !  Even  now  every  minute 
stands  up  like  a  fury  before  me,  and  glares  at  me 
with  fiery  eyes  !  That  night  will  I  conjure  up  as 
one  calls  up  spirits  from  the  grave,  that  their 
witness  may  animate  anew  long  forgotten  blood- 
guiltiness  !  What  crime  did  I  commit  ?  None, 
My  hands  are  clean.  And  on  that  great  morning, 
when  our  works  shall  be  tried  in  the  balance,  I 
might  fearlessly  step  up  to  the  Throne  of  the  Most 
High  and  say,  '  Clothe  me  in  the  whitest  raiment, 


THE   WISH,  27S 


fasten  upon  my  shoulders  the  most  delicate  pair  of 
swan's  wings,  and  let  me  sit  in  the  front  row,  for  I 
have  a  good  voice,  which  only  requires  a  certain 
amount  of  practice  to  do  honour  to  Paradise  ! ' 
But  there  are  crimes,  unaccomplished,  unuttered, 
which  penetrate  the  soul  like  the  breath  of  infec- 
tion, and  poison  it  in  its  very  essence,  till  the  body 
too  perishes  under  its  influence. 

"  It  was  a  night  almost  like  the  present  one. 
The  moist  autumn  wind  swept  past  the  house  in 
short  gusts,  and  caught  itself  in  the  half  leafless 
crests  of  the  poplars,  which  bowed  towards  each 
other  and  entwined  amid  creaking  and  rustling. 
Not  a  star  was  in  the  sky  ;  but  an  undefinable 
gleaming  brought  into  notice  dark  masses  of  torn 
clouds,  which  sped  along  as  if  in  rags.  The  night- 
light  would  not  burn  ;  its  flickering  flame  struggled 
with  the  shadows  which  danced  incessantly  over 
the  bed  and  the  walls.  The  ivy  wreath  hung 
opposite  me,  looking  black  and  jagged  like  a 
crown  of  thorns. 

"  It  was  about  ten  o'clock  when  Martha  com- 
menced to  be  delirious. 

"  She  raised  herself  up  in  bed  and   said   in  a 


276  THE  WISH. 


clear,  audible  voice,  *  I  must  really  get  up  now — 
it  is  too  bad  ! ' 

"  At  first  joy  suffused  my  face,  for  I  thought  she 
had  regained  consciousness.  *  Martha !  *  I  jumped 
up  and  grasped  her  hand. 

"  *  I  have  put  everything  out  in  readiness — shirts 
and  stockings  and  shpes,  so  that  a  blind  man  could 
find  them  in  his  sleep.  And  you  need  not  take 
any  measurements  either — make  no  compliments 
— make  no  compliments.'  And  all  the  time  she 
stared  at  me  with  glassy  eyes,  as  if  she  saw  a 
ghost ;  then  suddenly  she  uttered  a  piercing  shriek 
and  cried,  *  RollJ;he  stones  away  from  my  body — 
they  are  crushing  me.  Why  have  you  buried  me 
under  stones  ? '    ^^^^  .---«.—'— 

"  I  took  the  thinnest  sheet  I  could  find  and 
spread  it  over  her  in  place  of  the  coverlet ;  but 
even  that  brought  her  no  relief.  She  screamed 
and  talked  incessantly,  and  between  whiles  she 
muttered  eagerly  to  herself,  like  one  who  is  learn- 
fng  something  off  by  heart.  ^|k 

"  Like  this  an  hour  must  have  passed.  I  sat  in 
front  of  my  table  and  stared  at  her ;  for  I  was  in 
a  ferment  of  terror  lest  any  moment  might  bring 


THE  WISH.  277 


some  new,  still  more  horrible  development.  From 
time  to  time,  when  she  calmed  down  a  little,  I  felt 
my  limbs  relax ;  then  I  closed  my  eyes  and  let 
myself  sink  back,  and  each  time  I  had  the  sensa- 
tion as  if  I  were  sinking  into  Robert's  arms.  But 
there  hardly  remained  even  a  dull  feeling,  as  if  I 
were  thereby  committing  any  wrong ;  my  weari- 
ness was  too  intense.  I  also  had  a  sensation  as 
if  bubbles  were  bursting  in  my  head,  and  roses 
opening  out  and  always  putting  forth  new  wreaths 
of  blossoms  ;  then  again  there  was  a  hissing  sound 
from  one  ear  to  the  other,  as  if  some  one  had  run 
a  fuse  right  through  my  head  and  lighted  it. 

"  In  this  condition  of  nervous  over-excitement, 
tossed  hither  and  thither  between  terrified  starting 
up  and  relaxation,  Robert  found  me,  when,  towards 
midnight,  he  entered  the  room.  He  had  intended 
to  lie  down  on  his  bed  for  a  short  time,  and  then 
to  watch  for  the  rest  of  the  night  together  with 
me  ;  but  Martha's  screams  had  scared  him  too. 

"  When  I  saw  him,  all  my  exhaustion  was  as  if 
wiped  away  ;  I  felt  how  a  new  stream  of  blood 
shot  through  my  body,  and  I  jumped  up  to  go 
towards  him. 


278  THE  WISH. 


"  *  Try  to  rest  a  little/  he  said,  looking  down  at 
me  with  tired,  swollen  eyes  ;  *  you  will  require  all 
your  strength.' 

"  I  shook  my  head  and  pointed  to  my  sister, 
who  was  just  flinging  her  hands  about,  as  if  in 
her  delirium  she  were  trying  to  tear  me  from  his 
side. 

**  *  You  are  right,'  he  continued.  *  Who  could  be 
calm  enough  to  rest  with  this  picture  before  his 
eyes.'  And  then  he  planted  himself  with  clasped 
hands  in  front  of  the  bed,  bent  down  towards  her 
and  imprinted  a  soft  kiss  upon  her  wax-like  fore- 
head. 

"  *  That  is  how  he  kissed  me  too ! '  a  voice  within 
me  cried. 

"  Thereupon  he  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
so  close  to  my  chair  that  the  arm  which  he  rested 
upon  the  slab  of  the  table  almost  touched  my 
shoulder. 

"  With  the  gloomy  brooding  of  despair  he  stared 
across  at  her.  -^ 

"  *  Come  to  yourself,  Robert ! '  I  whispered  to 
him,  *  all  may  be  well  yet' 

"  He  laughed  grimly.     *  What  do  you  mean  by 


THE  WISH,  279 


"  well "?' he  cried  ;  *  that  she  should  remain  alive 
and  drag  herself  about  with  her  sickly  frame  and 
crushed  spirit,  as  a  burden  to  herself  and  to  others? 
Do  yau  not  know  that  these  are  the  alternatives 
between  which  we  have  to  choose  ?  ' 

"  A  cold  shudder  ran  through  my  very  marrow. 
But  at  the  same  time  I  felt  as  if  the  walls  were 
giving  way  and  an  unbounded,  shining  vista  open- 
ing out  before  me. 

"  *  Were  you  not  going  to  be  a  priestess  in  this 
house  ? '  a  warning  voice  within  me  remonstrated, 
but  its  sounds  were  deadened  by  the  surging  of 
my  blood. 

"*What  is  the  use  of  struggling  against  fate?' 
he  continued  ;  *  I  have  long  since  learnt  to  submit 
quietly  when  blow  after  blow  falls  down  upon 
nae  from  above.  I  have  become  a  miserable, 
weak-minded  fellow.  I  have  allowed  fate  to  bind 
me  hand  and  foot,  and  now,  even  if  I  struggle  till 
the  blood  spurts  from  my  joints,  it  is  no  good  ! 
I  am  powerless  and  shall  remain  so,  and  there's 
an  end  of  it !  But  I  do  not  care  to  talk  myself 
into  a  passion.  Such  helpless  rage  is  more  con- 
temptible than  hypocritical  submission.' 


28o  THE  WISH. 


"A  desire  darted  through  me  to  throw  myself 
down  in  front  of  him,  and  to  cry  out  to  him,  *  Do 
with  me  what  you  will :  sacrifice  me,  tread  me 
under-foot,  let  me  die  for  you  ;  but  be  brave  and 
have  new  faith  in  your  happiness '  then  sud- 
denly a  moan  from  Martha^s  lips  struck  upon  my 
ears,  so  plaintive,  so  pitiable  that  I  started  as  if 
struck  by  the  lash  of  a  whip. 

**  I  felt  ready  to  scream,  but  fear  of  him  choked 
my  utterance — only  a  groan  escaped  my  breast, 
which  I  forcibly  suppressed,  when  I  noticed  how 
anxiously  he  was  looking  into  my  eyes. 

"  *  Take  no  heed  of  me  ! '  I  said,  forcing  myself 
tfo  smile ;  *  the  chief  thing  is  for  her  to  get 
better.' 

"  He  crossed  his  arms  over  his  knee  and  nodded 
a  few  times  bitterly  to  himself.  And  then  again 
the  moaning  ceased. 

"  She  had  bowed  her  head  upon  her  breast,  and 
half  closed  her  eyes.  One  might  almost  have 
thought  her  asleep  ;  but  the  muttering  and  chat- 
tering continued.  There  was  utter  silence  in  the 
half-darkened  room.  Only  the  wind  sped  past 
the    window    with    low    soughing,    and    between 


THE  WISH,  281 


the  planks  of  the  ceiling  the  mice  scampered 
about. 

"  Robert  had  buried  his  head  in  his  hands,  and 
was  listening  to  Martha's  weird  talking.  Gradually 
he  seemed  to  grow  quieter,  his  breath  came  more 
regularly  and  slowly,  now  and  again  his  head 
dropped  to  one  side,  and  next  moment  jerked  up 
again. 

"  His  sleepiness  had  overpowered  him.  I  wanted 
to  urge  him  to  go  to  rest ;  but  I  was  afraid  of 
the  sound  of  my  own  voice,  and  therefore  was 
silent. 

"  More  and  more  often  did  the  upper  part  of 
his  body  sway  to  one  side,  now  and  again  his  hair 
touched  my  cheek — and  he  groped  about  seeking 
to  find  some  support. 

"  And  then,  suddenly,  his  head  fell  upon  my 
shoulder,  where  it  remained  lying.  My  whole 
body  trembled  as  if  I  had  experienced  some  great 
happiness. 

*'An  invincible  desire  possessed  me  to  stroke 
the  bushy  hair  that  fell  across  my  face.  Close 
to  my  eyes  I  saw  a  few  silver  threads  gleaming. 

"  *  It  is  already  beginning  to  get  grey,'  I  thought 


282  THE  WISH. 


to  myself,  *it  is  high  time  that  he  should  taste 
what  happiness  is  like/  And  then  I  really  stroked 
him. 

"  He  sighed  in  his  sleep  and  sought  to  nestle 
closer  with  his  head. 

"'  He  is  lying  uncomfortably/  I  said  to  myself; 
^  you  must  move  up  nearer  to  him.' 

"  I  did  so.  His  shoulder  leant  against  mine,  and 
his  head  fell  upon  my  breast. 

"  *  You  must  put  your  arm  round  him,'  a  voice 
within  me  cried,  *  otherwise  he  will  still  not  find 
rest' 

"  Twice  or  three  times  I  attempted,  and  as  often 
I  drew  back. 

"  What  if  Martha  should  suddenly  wake  !  Rut 
even  then  her  eyes  saw  nothing — her  ears  heard 
nothing. 

"  And  I  did  it. 

"  Then  a  wild  joy  seized  me  :  secretly  I  pressed 
him  to  me — and  within  me  there  arose  the  jubilant 
thought  :  'Ah, how  I  would  care  for  you  and  watch 
over  you  ;  how  I  would  kiss  those  wicked  furrows 
away  from  your  brow,  and  the  troubles  from  your 
soul !     How  I  would  fight  for  you  with  my  virgin 


THE  WISH.  283 


strength  and  never  rest  till  your  eyes  were  once 
more  glad,  and  your  heart  once  more  full  of  sun- 
shine !   But  for  that 1  looked  across  at  Martha. 

Yes,  she  lived,  she  still  lived.  Her  bosom  rose 
and  fell  in  short,  rapid  gasps.  She  seemed  more 
alive  than  ever. 

"  And  suddenly  it  flamed  up  before  me,  and  the 
words  seemed  as  if  I  saw  them  distinctly  written 
over  there  on  the  wall —  J 

"  *  Oh^  that  she  might  die  I  * 

"  Yes,  that  was  it,  that  was  it 

"  Oh,  that  she  might  die  !  Oh,  that  she  might 
die  ! '' 


VII. 

Drawing  a  deep  breath,  the  physician  stopped 
short,  and  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  fore- 
head. 

Robert  had  jumped  up,  stared  for  a  moment  at 
the  flaming  orb  of  the  lamp,  as  if  dazzled  by  the 
light,  and  then  rushed  towards  the  old  man  as  if 
to  tear  the  paper  out  of  his  hands. 

"  That  does  indeed  stand  there  ?  '*  he  stam- 
mered. 

"  Read  for  yourself!  "  said  the  other. 

A  long  silence  ensued. 

The  lamp  burnt  with  its  quiet,  cheery  light  as  if 
it  were  illumining  a  deed  of  brightest  gladsome- 
ness,  and  softly,  as  if  with  velvety  paws,  the  wind 
touched  the  windows.  Downstairs  everything 
seemed  to  be  growing  quieter.  The  intervals 
between   the  bursts  of  laughter  grew  longer  and 

longer — the  babel  of  voices  changed  to  a  steady, 

284 


THE  WISH.  285 


dull  buzz.     The  people  were  getting  tired — they 
were  digesting. 

The  physician  looked  round  for  Robert.  He 
had  dropped  down  once  more  upon  the  ledge  of 
the  empty  bedstead,  had  buried  his  face  in  his 
hands,  and  was  absolutely  motionless. 

Only  his  heaving  breath,  which  escaped  his 
breast  in  short,  irregular  gasps,  testified  to  the 
turmoil  that  was  raging  within  him. 

"  Come  to  yourself,  my  boy,"  said  the  physician, 
laying  his  hand  on  Robert's  shoulder. 

"  Uncle,  of  course  it  goes  without  saying — she 
was  not  in  her  right  mind  when  she  wrote 
this.?" 

"  She  was  never  more  in  her  right  mind  than 
at  that  moment  1 " 

"  How  dare  you  affirm  such  a  thing?     Do  not       j, 
insult  the  dead  !  "   »-  ^^l^-^i-^M^  1^  4ULm^A  ^"^^ 


**  Nothing   is   further   from    my  thoughts,  dear 

boy.     Who  shall  presume  to  cast  the  first  stone  at 

her  ?     But  if  you  have  been  listening  attentively, 

you  will  certainly  understand  that  her  whole  life 

was    nothing    more    than    the   maturing  of   this 

moment.     Already  in  her  girlish  dreams  the  seeds 
19 


286  THE  WISH, 


j/h- 


of  this  criminal  wish  lay  buried ;  they  put  forth 
sudden  shoots  on  yonder  stone  in  the  wood,  and 
came  into  blossom  at  the  very  hour  when  she 
crept  into  your  room  to  unite  you  with  Martha." 

"  Why  did  she  do  that,  if  she  herself  wished  to 
step  into  Martha's  place  ?  " 

"She  was  not  conscious  of  what  she  wished. 
All  her  efforts  to  make  you  and  Martha  happy 
were  nothing  further  than  the  secret  struggle 
which  her  pure  honest  naturewas^waging  with 
the  wish  growing  up  within  her,  since  that  day 
of  her  girlhood  when  she  had  seen  you  again.  _ 
But  she  did  not  know  it.  Even  her  love  for  you 
did  not  become  clear  to  her  till  she  entered  your 
house.  How  much  less  then  could  she  suspect 
what  was  slumbering,  as  the  fruit  of  this  love, 
within  her  soul." 

"And  yet  you  say  she  fought  against  it  and 
tried  to  exterminate  it  ?  " 
I  "  Not  spiritually,  not  consciously.  Her  thought 
remained  pure  till  that  terrible  midnight  hour.  It 
was  only  her  instinct  which  struggled  against  the 
poison.  That  drew  new  resources  daily  from  the 
healthy  depths  of  her  strong  nature,  by  which  to 


/ 


/ 


THE  WISH.  287 


secrete  the  putrid  matter  or  at  least  to  enclose  it  1 

so  that  it  became  innocuous.     For  this  reason  she  \ 

condemned  herself  to  exile,  for  this  reason  even  \ 

in  face  of  your  house  she  contemplated  a  hasty  \ 

retreat.     How  little  she  was,  even  later,  conscious  ; 

of    the    processes    which     for     years    had    been  \ 

developing  within  her,  you  may  see  by  the  whole  \ 

tone  of  her  reminiscences.     She  absolutely  uncon-  \ 

sciously  dwells  upon  many  unimportant  incidents, 
which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  progress  of  the 
story  and  yet  are  valuable  as  showing  the  gradual  ^,  jj 
development  of  her  wish.  She  knows  not  why  /  \ 
she  does  so :  her  feeling  alone  tells  her :  this  has 
some  connection  with  my  guilt." 

"  I  believe  in  no  guilt ! "  exclaimed  Robert,  in 
greatest  excitement.  "  If  that  wish  was  not  a 
mere  hallucination,  not  the  result  of  a   momen- 

ily  morbid,  over-strung  frame  of  mind,  but  had 

lain  for  a  long  while  dormant  in  her  nature,  how  C¥^ 
came  it  that,  only  six  hours  before  uttering  it,  she      "^ 
expressed  herself  with  such  indignation  about  my 
jTA^    mother  because  she  suspected  her  of  harbouring 

"  For  my  part,"  replied  the  old  man,  "  nothing  is     ^    i^ 


^\ 


Cy~ 


288  THE  WISH. 


more  convincing  for  my  view  of  the  matter,  than 
this  very  indignation.  To  free  her  own  conscience 
from  the  burden  which  she  felt  resting  upon  it,  she 
cast  every  stone  which  she  could  take  hold  of,  at 
your  mother.     It  was  terror  at  her  own  sin^jvhjdx^ 

drove  her  to  it.^  *^ ■     i,i,i„ii,.,in.  ■ 

"  And   the  noble,  self-sacrificing  resolve  which 
she  formed  only  a  few  days  before } " 

\  v^Over  the  old  man's  weather-beaten  features 
there  flitted  a  smile  full  of  understanding  and 
forgiveness. 

Then   he    said,    "  The   old    proverb   about    the 

'  good  intentions  with  which  the  path  to  Hell  is 
paved,  may  hold  good  here  too  ;  but  it  only  touches 
the  surface  of  the  matter.  This^^jresolve  was  a 
last  abortive  attempt  to  unite  sisterly  love  with 
her  longing  for  you,  to  make  a  pact  between  her 
powerful,  burning  desire  for  happiness  and  the 
impulse  to  keep  faith  towards  her  sister.  It  was 
the  most  unnatural  thing  she  could  hit  upon,  for 
silent  resignation  was  not  in  her  line.  It  was  a 
particularly  cruel  fate  which  doomed  her,  with  her 
noble  disposition  and  powerfulwill,  to  be  forced 
X  into  ^  sin  which  is  the  most  commorx-^rfd  most 


THE   WISH,  289 


cowardly  on  earth,  a  sin  which  1  have  found 
lurking  on  countless  faces,  when  I  stood  at  the 
bedside  of  people  seriously  ill.  This,  my  boy,  is 
one  of  the  darkest  spots  in  human  nature,  a 
remnant  of  bestiality  which  has  managed  to  find 
its  way  into  our  tamed  world  ;  even  such  sensitive 
natures  as  Olga  may  fall  a  prey  to  it,  though  of 
course  they  perish  through  it,  w^hile  coarser  souls 
simply  conceal  and  suppress  what  is  struggling  to 
appear  from  the  darkest  depths  of  their  beings. 
Wait,  I  will  speak  more  plainly.  I  once  came  to 
the  bedside  of  a  rich  old  man,  a  landowner,  whose 
last  breath  was  not  far  off.  At  the  head  of  his 
bed  stood  his  eldest  son,  a  man  of  about  forty, 
who  for  long  years  had  held  the  post  of  inspector 
on  strange  estates,  and  whose  intended  bride  was 
beginning  to  grow  old  and  faded  with  waiting. 
The  son  was  a  good,  honest  fellow  who  would  not 
have  hurt  a  fly,  who  loved  his  father  with  all  his 
heart,  and  would  certainly  have  been  ashamed  to 
wish  his  deadliest  enemy  any  ill ;  but  in  the 
stealthy,  terrified  glance  with  which  he  watched  me, 
while  I  bent  down  my  ear  towards  the  old  man's 
breast,  I  distinctly  read  the  wish  !     *  Oh,  that  he 


290  THE  WISH, 


might  die  ! '     Another  time  I  was  called  in  to  a 
woman  who  was  very  happy  in  second  marriage. 

Only  one  cloud  troubled  her  new  happiness.     Her  | 

husband  could  not  befriend  himself  with  the  child  \ 

of  her   first  marriage.     He   knitted   his  brows  at  \ 

.  i 

the  mere   mention   of  the   little   creature,  and  as  \ 
she  loved  him  passionately,  she  feared  he  might 

come  to  hate  her  on  the  child's  account,  and  hid  '\ 

it   away   from   him    as   much   as  ever  she   could.  \ 

The  child  got  scarlet  fever.     I  found  the  mother  ] 

kneeling    at    its    bedside   and   weeping    bitterly.  i 

She   trembled   in   fear   for  the   feeble   little   life.  j 

Had  she  not  herself  brought  it  forth  !     Then  her  I 

husband  entered  the  room — she  started — and  in  • 

the    restless,    wavering    glance    which    she    cast  \ 

towards  the  cradle,  there  stood  clearly  and  legibly  : 

written  ^^t  would  be  for  my  happiness,  if  you  died.'  j 

I    could    give    yO"    innngTi^^ahlp    pvamplec;    where  \ 

jealousy,   covetousness,  desire    for    independence,  \ 
restlessnesspimpulse  for  liberty,  amorous  longing, 

have  matured  this  terrible,  criminal   wish,  which  ^  | 

suddenly  rises  up  dark   and   gigantic  within  the  I 

human   breast,  in   which   hitherto   only  love   and  \ 

light  have   found  a  place.     Happily  nowadays   it^^ j 


{Jr-L^^:. 


\ 


THE  WISH.  .    291  .;; 


does  not  do  much  harm.  In  olden,  more  bar- 
barous times,  when  the  passions  were  permitted  to 
rage  unfettered,  the  deed  aided  the  thought.  And 
if  perchance  in  the  family  circle  any  one  happened  .   ' 

to  be  in  the  other's  way,  poison  and  the  dagger  ^^    .   . 
simply  claimed  their  victims.     History  and  litera-  ^  ^ 
ture  abound  with  murders  of  this  kind,  and  that    v        * 
great  student  of  mankind,  Shakspeare,  for  example;^'^ 
knows    hardly   any   other   tragic    motive    besides 
murder  of  kin.    To-day  people  have  grown  calmer, 
and  if  a  struggle  for  existence  happens  nowadays 
to  creep  into  the  holy  family  circle,  one  is  content'''^ 
to  wish  the  obnoxious  one,  in  a  dark  hour,  six  feet 
under  the  earth.     This  wish  is  the  ancient  murder  "^ 
restrained^^ b^iL^iSSdcnL  civilisation.      There,    my 
boy,  now  I  have  given  you  a  long  discourse,  and   '' 
if,  meanwhile,  your  blood   has  cooled   down,   my 
object  is  fulfilled." 

"  So  you  absolutely  condemn  her  ?  "  Robert 
anxiously  stammered  forth. 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  condemn  no  one,"  replied  the 
old  man,  with  a  serious  smile,  "  least  of  all  such  an 
honest  nature  as  Olga  was.  The  fact  alone  that 
she  had  the  courage  to  confess  to  herself  and  to 


292  THE  WISH, 


him  whom  she  loved  most,  what  she  was  guilty  of, 
raises  her  above  the  others.  For  this  wish,  of 
which  we  are  speaking,  as  it  is  the  most  hideous 
spiritual  sin  of  which  the  human  soul  can  become 
guilty,  so  it  is  also  the  most  secret.  No  friend  con- 
"0""^^  fides  it  to  a  friend,  no  husband  whispers  it  in  the 

Jjt/fi/i    darkness  of  the  nocturnal   couch  to  his  wife,  no 
y  penitent  dares  to  confess  it  to  his  spiritual  adviser, 


M 


jj* 


even  the  prayer  that  struggles  upwards  to  heaven 

out  of  the  depths  of  contrition,  passes  it  over  in 

hypocritical  silence.     God  may  have  knowledge  of 

everything,   only  not  of  this   baseness.     Let  this 

perish  in  shame   and    silence,  as   it   was   brought 

forth  in  night  and  horror.     And  more  than  this  ! 

mm,m>^       ,  Thls  wish  is  the  only  crime  for  which  there  is  com- 

visA^^^f^only  no  expiation,  no  punishment  either  before 

iJ^        ^  the  tribunal  of  the  outer  world,  or  one's  own  con- 

^jj^      science.     This  is  a  case  in  which  even  that  merci- 

M^     less  judge  which  a  man  carries  about  within  him 

proves  amenable  to  bribery.!     Thousands  of  people 

who  have  once  been  guilty  of  this  baseness  go  on 

I    I*       living  happily,  put  on  flesh  in  perfect  peace  of  soul, 

^       ^     and  rejoice  in  the  fulfilment  of  their  wish,  which 

O^         they  themselves  forget  as  spcctlily  as  possible,  as 


THE  WISH.  293 


soon  as  ever  it  is  fulfilled.  It  becomes  absorbed 
into  the  soul,  just  as  a  germ  of  disease  becomes  ^ 
absorbed  as  soon  as  the  stimulant  of  disease  has 
disappeared.  It  is  lost  without  any  trace,  it  is 
absolutely  blotted  out  by  an  abundance  of  social 
and  personal  virtues.  I  on  no  account  say  that 
I  condemn  these  people.  What  would  become  of 
the  world  if  every  one  who  on  looking  into  the 
glass  discovered  a  wart  on  his  face,  were  to  cut  his 
throat  in  despair  at  the  fact }  The  people  I  have 
described  to  you  are  the  healthy  every-day  people, 
whose  so-called  good  constitution  can  stand  a  blow, 
and  who  care  not  a  rap  if  now  and  again  something 
objectionable  sticks  to  them.  Olga  was  moulded^ 
of  finer  clay,  her  nervous  system  was  sensible  to 
lesser  shocks,  and  what  only  caused  others  a  slight 
irritation,  was  to  her  already  a  lash  of  the  whip. 
Such  natures  are  often  somewhat  morbid,  they 
incline  towards  melancholy  and  hysteria,  and  their 
soul-life  is  governed  by  imaginations,  which,  in  the 
eyes  of  others,  are  apt  to  assume  the  character  of 
fixed  ideas.  And  yet  everything  about  them  is 
strictly  normal,  indeed  their  organism  works  even 
more  accurately  than  that  of  the  ordinary,  average 


294  THE  WISH. 


human  being,  and  if  one  were  to  place  them,  like 
delicate  chemical  scales  under  a  glass  case,  one 
might  see  them  work  wonders.  As  a  rule  a  certain 
weakness  of  purpose  cleaves  to  this  class  of  sensi- 
tive people,  which  makes  them  shyly  retreat  into 
themselves  at  the  slightest  extraneous  touch — and 
this  is  lucky  for  them  ;  for  thus  they  are  saved  all 
violent  collision  with  the  outer  world,  to  which 
they  would  not,  after  all,  prove  equal.  But  woe  to 
those  among  them  who  are  driven  by  some  im- 
petuous desire,  some  mighty  passion,  straight 
among  rocks  and  thorns  !  Then  it  is  very  possible 
that  an  adhering  thorn,  which  others  would  hardly 
have  noticed,  may  become  to  them  a  poisoned 
arrow,  and  corrode  their  body  and  soul  till  they 
perish  in  consequence.  There,  now,  I  have  talked 
enough.  Here  lie  two  or  three  more  sheets. 
Listen  !  Here  we  shall  learn  how  one  may  be 
ruined  by  a  wish." 


VIII. 

"  Of  that  which  now  followed,  I  have  only  retained 
a  vague  recollection.  I  remember  that  I  suddenly- 
uttered  a  shriek,  which  made  even  Martha  start  up, 
that  I  flung  myself  down  at  her  bedside,  clutched 
her  burning  hands,  and  continued  to  cry  out, 
*  Save  me  !  save  me  !  wake  up  ! ' 

"And  then  again  I  find  myself  in  a  different  room, 
into  which  Robert  has  taken  me.  I  remember 
how,  there,  in  the  looking-glass,  I  recognised  my 
distorted  face,  bathed  in  the  perspiration  of  terror, 
how  I  burst  into  a  laugh,  and,  shuddering  at  my 
own  laughter,  sank  all  in  a  heap,  and  how  all  the 
while,  chuckling  and  hissing  with  a  thousand 
covetous  voices,  there  came  sounding  in  my  ears 
the  wish  :  *  Oh,  that  she  might  die  ! '  How  shall 
I  describe  it  all,  without  being  hunted  to  death  by 
the  spectres  of  that  night  ? 

"  The  only  clear  remembrance  that  I  still  retain 

295 


296  THE  WISH. 


IS  that  suddenly  the  doctor's  dear  old  face  was 
bending  over  me,  that  I  had  to  drink  something 
that  tasted  bitter,  and — then  I  know  nothing  more. 

4c  :|c  :|e  :ic  :is 

"  When  I  awoke  the  pale  light  of  dawn  gleamed 
through  the  windows.  My  head  ached,  I  looked 
around  dazed,  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  I  saw 
written  on  the  whitewashed  wall  opposite,  the 
words  :   *  Oh,  that  she  might  die  !  * 

"I  shuddered,  and  then  the  thought  rose  within 
J  me  :  *  Now,  if  she  dies,  it  will  be  your  wish  which 
has  murdered  her.' 

"  I  pulled  myself  together,  and  walked  up  to  the 
looking-glass. 

"*  So  this  is  what  a  w^oman  looks  like  who  wishes 
her  sister  might  die  ! '  said  I,  while  my  ashen-pale 
face  stared  back  at  me  ;  and,  seized  with  a  sudden 
loathing,  I  hit  at  the  glass  with  my  fist  My 
knuckles  bled,  but  it  did  not  break.  Fool  that  I 
was,  not  to  know  that  henceforth  all  the  world 
would  only  be  there  to  hold  up  a  mirror  to  my 
crime ! 

"  *  But  perhaps  she  may  not  die  ! '  it  suddenly 
darted  through  my  brain.     Such  radiance  seemed 


THE  WISH.  2()7 


to  burst  forth  from  this  thought,  that  I  closed  my 
eyes  as  if  dazzled. 

"  And  then  again  it  cried  aloud  within  me :  *  She 
will  die  ;  your  wish  has  murdered  her  ! '  I  ground 
my  teeth,  and  groping  along  by  the  walls,  I  crept 
into  the  sick  room. 

"  When  I  stood  at  the  door,  and  no  longer  heard 
any  sound  from  within,  the  idea  took  possession  of 
me : 

"  *  You  will  find  her  as  a  corpse.* 

"  No,  she  still  lived,  but  death  had  already  set  his 
mark  upon  her  face. 

"  The  bridge  of  the  nose  had  become  more  pro- 
minent, her  lips  no  longer  closed  over  her  irregular 
teeth,  her  eyes  seemed  to  have  sunk  right  down 
into  their  dark  sockets. 

"At  her  feet  stood  Robert  and  the  old  doctor. 
Robert  had  pressed  his  hands  to  his  face.  Sobs 
shook  his  frame.  The  old  man  scrutinised  me 
with  a  penetrating  glance.  Again,  for  a  moment, 
I  felt  as  if  he  were  looking  me  through  and 
through,  as  if  my  guilt  were  openly  exposed  before 
him.  But  then,  as  he  hastened  towards  me,  who 
was  tottering,  and  held  me  upright  in  his  arms,  I 


298  THE  WISH. 


L 


recognised  that  it  was  only  the  physician's  glance 
with  which  he  had  examined  me. 

"  *  How  long  will  she  live  yet  ? '  I  asked,  closing 
my  eyes. 

"  *  She  is  dying  !  * 

"  At  that  moment  something  within  me  grew 
rigid,  turned  to  stone.  At  that  moment  hope  died 
within  me,  and  with  it  my  faith  in  myself,  in 
happiness,  in  goodness.  A  great  calm  came  over 
me.  Death,  which  hovered  over  this  bed,  had 
spread  its  dark  pinions  around  my  body  too. 
With  the  clear  vision  of  a  prophetess,  I  saw  what 
yet  remained  to  me  of  life,  spread  out  unveiled 
before  my  eyes.  Like  one  dead  I  should  hence- 
forth have  to  wander  upon  earth,  like  one  dead  I 
should  have  to  cling  to  life,  like  one  dead  see  that 
happiness  approach  me,  which  was  for  ever  lost  to 
me.  Robert  stepped  up  to  me  and  embraced  me. 
[  calmly  suffered  it,  I  felt  nothing  more. 

"  Then  I  sat  down  close  to  my  sister's  bedside, 
and  looked  at  her,  waiting  for  her  death. 

"  Attentively  I  followed  every  symptom  of  her 
slow  expiring.  I  felt  as  if  my  consciousness  had 
separated  itself  from  me,  as  if  I  could  see  myself 


THE  WISH.  299 


sitting  there  like  a  stone  figure,  staring  into  the 
dying  woman's  face. 

"  No  feverish  illusion,  no  morbid  self-incrimination 
any  longer  disturbed  the  course  of  my  ideas.     It 
was  by  this  time  clear  to  me  that  my  wish  could  \ 
not  in  reality  bring  death  upon  her,  and  yet — for     \ 
me  and  my  conscience  it  remained  the  wish  alone 
which  had  killed  her. 

"  Thus  I  sat,  as  her  murderess,  at  her  bedside, 
and  waited  for  her  death  which  was  also  mine. 

"  It  was  a  long  time  coming.  The  hours  of  the 
day  passed  and  she  still  lived.  Her  pulse  had 
long  ceased  to  beat,  her  heart  seemed  to  stand 
still,  and  yet  her  breath  continued  to  come  and  go 
in  short  feeble  gasps.  While  I  was  lying  in  a 
morphia  sleep,  they  had  given  her  as  a  last  resource 
an  injection  of  musk  to  revive  her  strength  once 
more.  This  was  what  she  was  existing  on  now. 
But  the  odour  of  musk,  mingling  with  the  carbolic 
vapours,  filled  the  room  like  some  heavy,  tangible 
body,  weighed  on  my  brow  and  seemed  to  crush 
my  temples.  I  felt  as  if  with  every  breath  I  were 
drinking  in  increasing  burdens. 

"  In   the   afternoon    Robert's  parents  came.     I, 


300  THE  WISH. 


who  had  yesterday  shown  my  aunt  only  pride  and 
contempt,  to-day  kissed  her  hand  in  humiliation. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  the  penance  which  I 
had  mflTcited  upon  myself  at  Martha's  death-bed, 
and  which  shall  endure  as  long  as  I  live. 

"Evening  came ^oHr'TiTartFa  still  continued  to 
breathe.  With  wide-open  mouth,  her  dead  eyes 
covered  with  a  film,  she  stared  at  me.  Her  body 
seemed  to  get  smaller  and  smaller,  quite  shrunk 
together  she  lay  there.  It  almost  looked  as  if  in 
death  she  did  not  venture  to  take  up  even  the 
small  space  which  she  had  occupied  during  her 
lifetime. 

"  Aunt  filled  the  house  with  her  loathsome  sob- 
bing, and  the  others,  too,  were  weeping  ;  I  alone 
remained  without  tears. 

"  When  towards  eleven  o'clock  she  had  drawn 
her  last  breath,  I  fell  into  a  delirium. 

He  *  *  *  * 

"  Just  now  I  have  returned  from  the  manor. 

"  He  was  good  and  kind  towards  me,  and  in  his 
eyes  there  gleamed  a  half-hidden,  bashful  tender- 
ness, which  my  soul  drank  in  eagerly.  I  feel  as  if 
a  new  spring-time  must  be  coming,  my  heart  is  full 


THE  WISH,  301 


of  smiles  and  laughter,  and  when  I  close  my  eyes 
golden  sunlight  rays  seem  to  be  dancing  round 
about  me.  But  now  away  with  this  enervating 
dream  of  happiness  ! 

"  If  he  should  learn  to  love  me,  all  the  worse  for 
him  !  I  gave  him  no  occasion — no,  indeed  not ! 
I  should  feel  I  must  despise  myself  like  a  very ^ 
prostitute  if  I  had  done  so.  Since  my  conval- 
escence I  have  managed  his  household  for  him 
truly  and  faithfully,  for  more  than  a  year,  without 
claiming  his  approval,  without  wishing  to  grow 
indispensable  to  him.  Even  my  dear  aunt  has 
had  to  recognise  that,  who  almost  forces  her  hospi- 
tality upon  me,  in  spite  of  my  being  personally  so 
hateful  to  her.  She  is  much  too  good  a  house- 
keeper herself  not  to  know  that,  but  for  me,  the 
household  would  have  gone  to  rack  and  ruin  in 
those  days,  when  Robert  forgot  everything  in 
gloomy  mourning  for  his  dead — not  even  taking 
any  interest  in  the  child,  which  she  had  left  him 
as  a  pledge.  But  for  me,  the  poor  little  thing 
would  be  lying  under  the  ground  long  ago.  I  will 
not  enumerate  all  I  did  and  worked  during  this  time. 

It  is  surely  not  meet  for  me  to  play  the  Pharisee. 
20 


302  THE  WISH. 


"  Nor  will  I  speak  of  expiation.     How  pompous 

the  word  sounds,  and  what  miserable  self-deception 

I  generally  hides  behind  it !     How  shall  I  wash  away 

I    what  defiles  me  ?     One  may  expiate  some  tragic 

I     guilt,  one  can  even  expiate  some  great  crime,  but 

I     a  piece  of  baseness  such  as  I  committed,  cleaves  to 

the  soul  for  ever !     Ah,  if  I  did  not  know  what 

secret  desire  lurks  in  the  depths  of  my  heart ! 

"Why  else  should  I  require  to  stand  there  absolved 
before  my  own  conscience,  if  not  in  order  that  I 
might  one  day  become  his  ?  As  if  everlasting  fate 
itself  had  not  reared  up  a  wall  between  us,  reaching 
up  from  the  depths  of  her  grave  as  high  as  the 
stars. 

"  And  if  some  demon  should  ever  whisper  into  his 
ear,  advising  him  to  stretch  out  his  hand  for  me, 
what  else  could  I  do  but  repulse  him,  as  if  for  his 
audacity  ?  But  he  will  never  do  such  a  thing.  I 
have  succeeded  in  keeping  him  at  a  distance.  Let 
him  believe  that  I  have  a  poor  opinion  of  him,  let 
him  believe  that  I  am  haughty  and  unfeeling 
through  self-love.  I  shall  know  how  to  guard  my 
heart's  secret. 

"  If  only  one  thing  were  not  so ! 


THE  WISH.  303 


"  Sometimes,  especially  at  night,  when  I  am 
staring  into  the  darkness,  a  wild,  mad  longing 
comes  over  me  with  such  power,  that  I  feel  as  if  I 
must  succumb  to  it.  It  seizes  me  like  a  feverish 
delirium  ;  it  dims  my  senses,  and  makes  my  blood 
boil  in  my  veins  ;  it  is  the  longing  to  lie  just  for 
once  upon  his  breast,  and  there  to  weep  my  heart 
out.  For  in  those  nights  my  tears  were  dried  up. 
I  have  never  been  able  to  weep  since  the  day  when 
I  found  Martha  lying  on  her  sick-bed. 

♦  *  #  *  « 

"  A  fortnight  later, 
"  It  has  come  to  pass.  He  loves  me.  He  came 
to  woo  me.  Now  I  know  that  there  is  an  expia- 
tion !  These  tortures  must  indeed  purify  !  Jesus, 
I  have  lost  my  childish  faith  in  Thee,  but  Thou 
wast  a  man.  Thou  hast  suffered  like  me.  Thee  I 
implore  —  no,  this  is  madness!  Come  to  your 
senses,  woman  ;  pull  yourself  together.  Is  there 
not  an  everlasting  resting-place,  whither  you  may 
flee  by  your  own  free  will,  if  your  strength  is  no 
longer  equal  to  the  misery  of  this  life  ?  Who  is  to 
prevent  you  ? 

"  He  loves  me.    I  have  attained  it.    But  in  order 


304  THE  WISH, 


that  he  might  love  me,  Martha  had  first  to  perish, 
I  myself  had  to  sink  down  into  an  abyss  of  guilt 
and  shame  from  which  no  power  in  heaven  or  on 
earth  can  save  me. 

"  I  am  dead.  Dead  shall  be  my  desires  and  my 
hopes,  and  my  rebellious  blood,  which  wells  up 
seething  at  thought  of  him.  I  will  soon  compel  it 
to  be  calm  ;  and  if  not . 

"Oh,  how  he  stood  before  me,  timidly  stammering 
forth  word  by  word.  How  shyly  and  imploringly 
his  eye  sought  mine,  and  yet  how  he  hardly  dared 
to  raise  his  glance  from  the  ground.  How,  in  his 
awkwardness,  he  twisted  the  ends  of  his  beard 
round  his  fingers,  and  stamped  his  foot  when  he 
could  not  find  the  right  word  !  Oh,  my^opr  dear, 
big  child,  did  you  not  see  how  my  every  limb  was 
trembling  with  the  desire  to  rush  towards  you  and 
hold  you  tight  for  all  eternity,  did  you  not  see  how 
my  lips  were  twitching  with  the  temptation  to  press 
themselves  upon  yours,  and  to  hang  there  till  their 
last  breath  ? 

"  Did  you  not  see  all  this  ? 

"Did  you  really  believe  the  words,  which  half 
unconsciously  I  spoke  to  you?     My  heart  knows 


THE   WISH,  305 


nothing  of  them,  that  I  swear  to  you.  ^_JJl2kve 
loved  you  ever  since  I  can  remember.  I  know  that 
my  last  breath  will  utter  your  name. 

"  And  shame  on  you,  if  you  really  had  faith  in  my 
pretexts  !  I  leave  you  for  a  rich  girl  !  You,  for 
whom  I  would  gladly  beg  in  the  streets,  for  whom 
I  would  work  till  my  eyes  grew  dim  and  my 
fingers  sore,  if  you  needed  it  ! 

"Do  you  remember  that  night  in  our  parents' 
house,  when  you  were  wooing  Martha  ?  Do  you 
remember  it  and  dare  to  insult  me  by  putting  faith 
in  my  miserable  excuses  } 

"  And  when  at  parting  I  gave  you  my  hand,  why 
did  you  look  into  my  eyes  so  sadly  and  humbly  ? 
Did  you  not  know  that  now  that  look  will  haunt 
me  day  and  night  like  the  reproach  of  some  heavy 
crime  I  have  committed  towards  you  ? 

"  No,  my  friend,  you  are  the  only  one  on  earth 
who  have  nothing  to  reproach  me  with.  Towards 
you  I  have  acted  honestly— and  most  honestly 
to-day,  even  though  you  were  never  so  unutterably 
deceived  as  to-day  !  If  only  I  might  tell  you  how 
much  I  love  you  !  How  gladly  would  I  die  in  that 
self-same  hour.     Only  once  to  lie  upon  your  breast 


3o6  THE  WISH. 


— only  once  to  hide  my  head  upon  your  shoulder 
and  weep,  weep — weep  blood  and  tears  ! 

"  You  must  never  again  look  at  me  like  that,  my 
giant,  as  if  I  had  had  a  right  to  despise  you,  as  if 
you  were  too  simple  and  not  good  enough  for  me. 
I  do  not  know  what  I  might  not  do  in  that  case! 
Heaven  protect  you  from  me  and  my  love  ! 

4c  ifc  4:  ^  He 

''A  week  later. 

"And  now  I  have  done  it  after  all!  I  have 
thrown  myself  upon  his  neck  ;  I  have  satiated  my- 
self with  his  kisses;  I  have  wept  my  fill  in  his  arms! 

"I  am  calm — quite  calm.  I  have  tasted  whatever 
of  happiness  life  had  left  to  offer  me,  the  sinner. 

"  But  what  now  ? 

"  Since  hours  I  have  been  face  to  face  with  the 
last  great  question  :  *  Shall  I  flee  or  die  ? ' 

"  One  or  the  other  I  must  do  this  very  night ;  for 
to-morrow  he  will  come  to  lead  me  to  Martha's 
grave. 

"  Rather  than  follow  him  thither,  I  will  die  ! 

"  But  I  will  even  assume  that  I  could  be  enough 
of  a  hypocrite  not  to  drop  down  beside  the  grave 
and  confess  all  to  him,  I  will  assume  that  I  should 


THE  WISH,  307 


not  be  choked  with  loathing  of  myself,  that  I  should 
really  have  enough  wretched  courage  to  become 
his  wife  ;  what  sort  of  a  life  should  I  lead  at  his 
side? 

"What  is  the  good  of  clinging  to  happiness  when 
one  has  long  since  forfeited  it?  Should  I  not 
slink  about  like  some  poor  criminal  in  her  last 
hours,  everlastingly  tortured  by  the  fear  of  betray- 
ing myself  to  him,  and  yet  filled  with  the  desire  to 
proclaim  my  guilt  to  the  whole  world  ?  How 
could  I  sleep  in  the  bed  out  of  which  I  wished  her 
into  her  grave!  How  could  I  wake  between  the 
walls  on  which  there  still  stands  written  in  flaming 
letters  :     *  Oh,  that  she  might  die  !  * 

"  I  will  converse  quite  calmly  and  sensibly  with 
myself,  as  is  meet  for  one  who  is  making  up  the 
account  of  her  life.  That  I  cannot  become  his 
wife  I  know  very  well. 

"Shall  I  flee?— What  should  I  do  among 
strangers  ?  I  know  them.  I  know  these  people 
and  despise  them.  They  have  wrought  evil 
towards  me  ;  they  would  torment  me  again  in  the 
future. 

"All   the   faith,  all  the  love,  all  the  hope  still 


3o8  THE  WISH, 


remaining   to   me,  have  their  foundation    in    him 
alone. 

"  So  I  must  die !  The  bottles  of  morphia  stand, 
well  preserved,  in  the  corner  of  my  cupboard.  I 
had  some  suspicion  that  I  might  want  them,  when, 
in  defiance  of  the  old  doctor,  I  secretly  saved  up 
their  contents.  The  few  hours  of  sleep  which  I 
thereby  lost,  will  now  be  amply  compensated 
for. 

"  Only  a  letter  yet  to  my  uncle  the  doctor ;  he 
shall  be  my  heir  and  my  confidant.  Perhaps  he 
can  help  me  to  wipe  away  all  traces  of  my  deed,  so 
that  Robert  may  suspect  nothing.  Not  a  greeting 
to  him.  That  is  the  hardest  of  all,  but  it  must 
be  so. 

*  ♦  *  *  * 

**  I  have  run  out  secretly  and  posted  the  letter. 
The  watchman  was  signalling  midnight.  How 
empty,  how  dark  is  the  whole  world !  In  the 
lime-trees  the  wind  is  soughing.  Here  and  there 
a  light  is  sadly  gleaming  as  if  to  illumine  hidden 
sorrows.  A  drunken  fellow  came  shouting  along 
the  road  and  made  as  if  to  attack  me.  Darkness, 
poverty,  apd  brutality  out  there — in  here  guilt  and 


THE  WISH,  309 


unappeasable  longing — that  would   be   my  future. 
Verily  this  life  has  nothing  more  to  offer  me. 

"  People  talk  and  write  so  much  about  the  terror 
of  death.  I  feel  nothing  of  it.  I  am  content,  for 
I  have  wept  my  fill.  Those  suppressed  tears 
weighed  heavily  upon  me ;  and  weeping  makes 
one  weary,  they  say.     Good- night !  " 


The  End. 


')-■ 


h- 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  d\ie  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

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Rcc-n  LP 


\m^ 


495i. 


DAVIS 


INTERLIBRARY  LQAN 
— FEBiy  1971 


JAN  0  2  2(102 


LD  21A-50m-9,'58 
(6889sl0)476B 


^m^" 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


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S  S4-- 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAIvIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


;^^..      / 


